“Yes, ma'am,” said Content, in her little canary pipe.
The rector and his wife went out. Sally switched off the light with a snap as she passed. Out in the hall she stopped and held her husband's arms hard. “Hush!” she whispered. They both listened. They heard this, in the faintest plaint of a voice:
“They don't believe you are here, Sister Solly, but I do.”
Sally dashed back into the rosebud room and switched on the light. She stared around. She opened a closet door. Then she turned off the light and joined her husband.
“There was nobody there?” he whispered.
“Of course not.”
When they were back in the study the rector and his wife looked at each other.
“We will do the best we can,” said Sally. “Don't worry, Edward, for you have to write your sermon to-morrow. We will manage some way. I will admit that I rather wish Content had had some other distant relative besides you who could have taken charge of her.”
“You poor child!” said the rector. “It is hard on you, Sally, for she is no kith nor kin of yours.”
“Indeed I don't mind,” said Sally Patterson, “if only I can succeed in bringing her up.”