“What, of the two black fingers?”
Hilda drew back shuddering and tears rushed to her eyes.
“Come along, I have no time to waste upon you. Can’t you unhook your dress?”
“Diana did it after Aunt Janette got sick. I cannot reach the hooks.”
“You are old enough to wait upon yourself and will soon find that I am not a waiting-maid for you,” and, giving an angry jerk to a refractory hook, the dress was loosened and other garments removed, and the little girl crept into the cot, which Miss Flint designated as her resting place.
“Won’t you hear me say my prayers?” she asked timidly as her care-taker was leaving the room.
“You have great need to say them. I wonder you are not afraid to go to sleep after telling such a wicked story,” and, taking the lamp, she went out, shutting the door after her.
Miss Flint sat down to her sewing in the clean and pleasant room, but she was not happy. She at last had a home of her own, but considered the incumbrance that went with it overbalanced the benefit.
She had not thought that her patrons would object to her taking Hilda to their homes in her dressmaking visits, but realized that she was mistaken, as she saw with her sister-in-law’s eyes that there would come rainy days when Hilda could not go; and if clear the child could not stand the walks she would be compelled to take if she accompanied Jerusha, nor could she be left alone in the cottage.
Weary and sad, she leaned back in her chair and reflected; and her glance happening to rest upon the curtain of the lounge, she saw it move. Jerusha was not frightened, although she was wise enough to know that there could not be an effect without a cause.