“We don’t want to buy anything,” said one of the maids coming out to the side porch, and looking at the big bag on the old colored woman’s arm, Johnny being back of the evergreens around one of the curves, picking up the last article dropped.
“Who’s asked yer to buy anyting?” demanded Candace in scorn, and seating herself on one of the steps, utterly unable to go farther. “Yer speak to Mrs. Jasper King as quick as you kin, or to him.”
“Mrs. Jasper King isn’t home. They aren’t any of them home; they’ve gone abroad,” said the maid.
“Whar’s abroad?” screamed Candace, letting her bag roll out of her hands to the ground.
“Oh! over to England; and then they were going to Rome,” said the maid coolly.
“O my bressed chilluns!” mourned Candace, swinging her heavy body back and forth on the step, while she wrung her black hands. Johnny staggered up with all the parcels.
“It’s Candace,” screamed Johnny. “Hannah, don’t you know, she lives where I do when I’m home, and where Mr. King used to live before he came here. Now will you give me some red-and-white drops?” He deposited all the bundles on the floor of the porch, and hugged up to the big black figure.
“‘O my bressed chilluns!’ mourned Candace.”
Hannah ran to call Mrs. Higby, who sent her for Mrs. Fargo; but she had gone over to Grandma Bascom’s, it being her morning for that duty, so the maid hurried down the lane to the little cottage. “O Mrs. Fargo!” she exclaimed, hurriedly entering. “Oh! where is she?” as the old lady sat up against her pillows, the only occupant of the room.