“Berty,” said Margaretta, suddenly, “you have something to tell me.”
Berty laughed. “How queer things are. Two months ago we had plenty of money. Then Grandma lost everything. We had to go and live in that old gone-to-seed mansion on River Street—you know what a dirty street it is?”
“Yes, I know—I wish I didn’t.”
“I’m not sorry we went. I’ve had such experiences. I thought I wouldn’t tell you, Margaretta, till all was over. You might worry.”
“What have you been doing?” asked Margaretta, anxiously.
“You remember how the neighbours thought we were missionaries when we first moved to the street?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And when I spoke sharply to a slow workman, an impudent boy called out that the missionary was mad?”
“Yes, I recall it—what neighbours!”
“I shall never forget that first evening,” said Berty, musingly. “Grandma and I were sitting by the fire—so tired after the moving—when a dozen of those half-washed women came edging in with Bibles and hymn-books under their arms.”