“She is better, isn’t she?” Julie said, eager for more praise of her creation.
“She is that,” Mrs. Watkins assented cordially. “But it’s you that’s done it.” She pointed the fan at Julie. “You mark what I say, it’s you that’s put life into the old graveyard-deserter. She hasn’t got any real life of her own: she’s just what you’ve made of her. You’ve put life into her like a kid blowing up a toy balloon; but if you was to quit blowing at her she’d go flat again, or maybe bust.”
“I know,” Julie admitted uneasily. “That’s the reason I wish her niece would come to her.”
“Niece?” Mrs. Watkins swept a fly off the sleeping baby’s face and paused, staring at Julie. “Niece?” she snorted. “I’m mighty doubtful about any niece, myself.”
“Why, she’s got a photograph on her mantel of a girl that she says is her niece,” Julie cried.
“Well, maybe she is. I don’t know for certain,” Mrs. Watkins returned, still doubtfully. “I know the picture. Miss Fogg used to let me into her room sometimes before she got so cranky an’ suspicious. An’ I know she says it’s her niece, but if it is, believe me, she certainly don’t care one thing about her old aunt. Miss Fogg’s been in this house for all the eight years I’ve been here—for all she thinks we’re so common, she keeps a stayin’ with us—an’ I’ve never seen any niece in all that time; an’ she don’t ever seem to have no letters, or word of any kind from the niece—not even at Christmas—that I know of. My, ain’t it hot!” she interpolated, putting up one languid hand and plucking a wisp of hair back from her forehead. “I just b’lieve that photograph’s a picture of some girl she used to sew for, and she likes to b’lieve it’s kin to her, poor soul.”
“Oh! it must be her niece,” Julie cried, distressfully. “It would be awful if it weren’t. Why, she’s all poor old Miss Fogg has in the world—the last straw of life that she clings to. It would be awful if she didn’t have her!”
“Well, I hope in my heart she has got a niece,” Mrs. Watkins returned.
“She ought to be here,” Julie persisted. “She ought to come to Miss Fogg, in case I have to leave.”
“Why, you thinkin’ of goin’ away?”