“Within the past year,” continued Mrs. Abbott, “Mr. Bellamy has found the worthless father very troublesome, and has grave fears that he will try to get possession of Elfie, probably with the hope of getting hold of the money which she inherits from her mother, independently of her grandfather’s large fortune. He made one attempt in San Francisco, but happily his plot was discovered. Mr. Bellamy believes the man will think he has of course taken Elfie to England with him, and has little fear for her here under my care.
“Candace can be trusted to watch and defend her if necessary, for she would be a tigress if danger threatened her darling; but poor Candace keeps having attacks of rheumatism. Change of climate must have developed it, for she was never afflicted that way before. When her nurse has a sick day some one else must guard Elfie, and you, my dear, will do it more faithfully, I firmly believe, than any one else in the house.”
Mrs. Abbott rose as she finished, and kissed the earnest, honest face of her listener.
Mary Ann’s dark eyes were beaming with joy at being so trusted; but though she longed to say that she would be faithful—yes, faithful unto death, if necessary—there was such a choking in her throat that she could only answer by pressing the dear hand that held hers.
CHAPTER VII.
ELFIE TELLS A STORY.
Six of the girls were spending the Saturday mending-hour in Lily’s room. All the girls in the school were required to spend that one hour in sewing, and as rents and holes were subject to fines and bad marks it became an unwritten law that the hour was to be spent in mending. The little girls were expected to do their mending in the smaller recitation-room, with one of the teachers to direct and assist them, but the larger ones were allowed to work in their rooms.
“It is not a hilarious pursuit,” said Lily, looking solemnly at a three-sided tear above the hem of a clean white skirt, “and I am very sorry that there seems to be such a deep-seated prejudice against the Chinese.”
“And what earthly connection is there between mending and Chinese?”
“The connection, my inquisitive Bertha, is not with mending, but abolishing the necessity for the practice, which I regard as a most disagreeable one. I have understood that the gentle creatures with the peanut-colored complexions and the blinking, bias eyes are acquainted with a process for making paper undergarments, which are taken off when soiled and used for lighting fires. I suppose if my lovely figure were draped in paper I should make a cheerful rattling as I walked about, and toward the close of a paper garment’s career I might even have to tie it about me with twine, like any other paper-wrapped package. Still, I should prefer it to mending cotton materials, and so I wish they would offer the Chinese inducements to stay here and begin manufacturing.”