"There is no one here but those who love you," said the minister. "Now, child, get directly up and sit in that chair." He indicated the one, and in a minute Rachel was perched on it, with streaming eyes. Peletiah, having started to get a towel, and in his trepidation presenting the dish-rag, the parson dried her tears on his own handkerchief.
"Now, then, that is better," he said, in satisfaction, as they all grouped around her chair.
"Rachel, there mustn't be anything of this sort—tears, I mean—again.
That lady is my sister, and——"
"Your sister!" screamed Rachel, precipitating herself forward on her chair in imminent danger of falling on her nose, to gaze at him in amazement.
"Yes"—a dull red flush crept over the minister's face—"and—and whatever she says, Rachel, why, you are not to mind, child."
"She ain't a-goin' to sass me," declared Rachel stoutly.
"Well, I don't believe she will again; let us hope not," said Mr.
Henderson, in a worried way. "However, you are not to cry; remember that,
Rachel, whatever happens," he added firmly: "you are to be happy here; this
is your home, and we all love you."
"You do?" said Rachel, much amazed, looking at them all. "Oh, well, then, I'll stay." And slipping down from her chair, she seized Mrs. Henderson's apron. "What'll I do? Mrs. Fisher told me how to wash dishes. May I do 'em?"
"Yes, and the boys shall wipe them," said Mrs. Henderson, and pretty soon there was a gay little bustle in the old kitchen, the parson staying away from the writing of the sermon to see it.
But Peletiah and Ezekiel were much too slow to suit Rachel, who got far ahead of them, so she flew to the drawer in the big table where she had seen them get the dish-towels, and, helping herself, she fell to work drying some of the big pile in the drainer in the sink.