"Rachel," the minister's wife called gently after her. But Rachel stormed on, "Oh, I can't; dear me, I can't!"
So Mrs. Henderson mounted the stairs and sat down on the top one, and took
Rachel's hands, nervously beating together.
"My child, you must listen to me."
It was said very quietly; but Rachel knew by this time what the parsonage people meant when they said a thing, so she answered meekly in a muffled voice because of the apron over her head:
"Yes'm."
"Take down your apron," said Mrs. Henderson.
Down fell the apron, disclosing a face of so much distress, that for a moment the heart of the parson's wife failed her, but it must be done.
"My child," she began very gently, "it is best that you should go to see
Miss Parrott. She will be a good friend to you."
"I don't want no friends," said Rachel doggedly, in her distress relapsing into her old tenement-house disregard of the rules of speech; "no more 'n I've got her."
"Ah, child, that is not a wise way to talk," said Mrs. Henderson, shaking her head. "One cannot have too many friends."