“George Forester’s boy!—whew-w! I wish it wasn’t a friend’s son.”
“But it’s that that makes them so happy about it. Mrs. Forester wrote us a lovely letter, and she’s writing to Mother. They’re just frightfully relieved.” The feelings of the twins overcame them, and they jazzed frantically together round the room—a demonstration that brought them into violent collision with Sarah, who entered silently, with Billy, flushed and excited, at her heels.
“Sarah, will you stay with us?” Mrs. Weston asked.
Sarah blinked rapidly thrice.
“Will I stay?”
“Miss Jean and Miss Jo are to have a pupil,” Mrs. Weston said. “A little boy, to teach with Master Billy. It gives us a little more money, so—will you stay with us, old friend?”
Sarah uttered a loud sniff.
“I wouldn’t have gone,” she declared stoutly. “Not if it was ever so. What’s wages, between you and me? and who’d know how to treat your brownkities, when they come?” She put her apron to her eyes. “And why them poor lambs should have to teach some ’orrid little boy, just to keep me on the place, I dunno, seein’ I’d never have gone!”
“I can’t afford Amy too, you know, Sarah,” said Mrs. Weston.
“I’m not conshis of havin’ ever said I needed a second pair of ’ands to ’elp me run a place like this,” said Sarah stiffly. “The work ain’t nothing. Many a time ’ave I said to myself, with Amy talkin’ about her boys and the new way of doin’ her ’air, that I’d rather be on me own.” Suddenly her hard old face worked, and her voice trembled. “I couldn’t never have gone!” she cried loudly, and turned swiftly from the room. They heard her sobbing as she went.