One of his own parishioners, meeting, accosted him:
“See here, sir, you’d best be careful how you abuse those little orphans in your care, for we Americans don’t approve of any such doings and you’ll get yourself into trouble, you may depend on it.”
With a muttered, “You will please attend to your own affairs and leave me to attend to mine,” Coote pushed past the speaker and stalked on his way.
Harry’s screams had been heard at Mr. Keith’s, and the grocer’s wife had stopped at their gate on her way home to tell the story of the brutal treatment the poor child had received. The two ladies shed tears over it and longed to go to the rescue of the poor little ones, yet refrained for the present, and took time to consider what would be the best plan to adopt for their relief. They talked the matter over together, and finally decided that the uncles must be informed of the true state of affairs, when doubtless they would take steps to secure the children from a repetition of such cruel treatment.
“Ethel writes a very neat hand,” remarked Mrs. Keith. “I wonder she has not complained to them long before this.”
“Doubtless her letters, if she has written any, have all passed through the hands of Mr. or Mrs. Coote and been suppressed if she ventured any complaint of their treatment,” returned Mrs. Weston.
“Yes, I dare say that is so,” said Mrs. Keith. “Well, the very next time Ethel comes over here I shall ask her if she would like to write to any of her relatives and knows their address, offering her writing materials and postage stamp and promising to mail the letter for her.”
“A very good plan if she knows the address, which I doubt,” returned Mrs. Weston.
They did not know it, but Ethel in her room watching beside Harry, who had sobbed himself to sleep, was considering the same question, namely, how she could let her uncles know how badly she and her little brother and sisters were being treated. She had been ignorant of the address until the day before, when Mrs. Coote had bidden her carry out the scrap-basket from the study and empty it into the coal scuttle in the kitchen, and in doing so she had seen and secured an envelope bearing the address of the firm of Eldon Brothers. It could do no harm to take it, she thought, as otherwise it would only be burned up; and having an ill-defined feeling that some day it might prove of service to her, she had hastily put it in her pocket. It was there still, and now taking it out she gazed at it with her tear-dimmed eyes, trying to think how she could get writing materials and postage stamp, make use of them, and post her letter, when written, without the knowledge of Mr. or Mrs. Coote, who, if they knew, would be sure to prevent her from sending it.
“I will ask God to help me,” she said to herself, and at once dropping on her knees sent up a silent but most fervid prayer that a way might be opened for the accomplishment of her wish.