“No one could be of more help than Jerusha in every way, if she will go. And I will be glad to postpone my work until another day.”
“Well, see that someone goes,” said the doctor, as he arose and went to his office, and at that moment a light, brisk step was heard upon the porch, followed by a sharp peal of the bell.
“There she is now,” thought Mrs. Lattinger, as she arose to admit Jerusha. “I will tell her before she lays aside her bonnet.”
The moment the door opened Jerusha, erect, neat, and with perfectly fitting walking dress, stepped in, her eyes like black beads and her cheeks flushed from her mile walk in the clear morning air.
“Where is my pay to come from?” she asked sharply, when Mrs. Lattinger made the situation known. “There is no charge for making a burial dress for a neighbor, and I cannot afford to lose my day.”
“The doctor feels it incumbent to send someone, having promised Diana. I suppose there is money in the house; if not, we will see that you are paid for it.”
“That settles it!” responded Miss Flint, promptly, and, turning abruptly, she left the house and walked with her usual dispatch down the road, looking neither to the right nor to the left until she reached the cottage.
Diana was still alone, with the exception of Hilda, who was taking her breakfast, and her face clouded at sight of Miss Flint.
“Mrs. Courtney is sick and could not come,” explained Jerusha, reading Diana’s face like an open book, “and Mrs. Lattinger took it upon herself to ask me to come, so I am that accommodating individual known as ‘Jack-in-a-Pinch’; what’s to be done now that I am here?”
“I don’t know; that is why I wished someone to come.”