“She's so nervous, poor pet! Perhaps I'm in the 'abit of giving her too much. But she lives in terror of the company we 'ave to associate with, and I can't see her nerves be racked.”
“Thee ought to stop such wrong doings,” pronounced William Sebastian, laying his palm decidedly on the table. “Set theeself to some honest work and put the child to school. Her face is a rebuke to us that likes to feel at peace.”
The woman glanced resentfully at him.
“The child is gifted,” she maintained. “I'm going to make a hartist of her.”
She smoothed Carrie's wan hands, and, as if noticing her borrowed clothing for the first time, looked about the room for the tinsel and gauze.
{Illustration: THE CHILD LAY QUITE DOCILE AND SUBMISSIVE.}
“The things she had on her when she come to us,” said Grandma Padgett, “were literally gone to nothing. The children had run so far and rubbed over fences and sat in the grass. I didn't even think it was worth while to save the pieces; and I put my least one's clothes on her for some kind of a covering.
“It was her concert dress,” said the woman, regarding aunt Corinne's pantalets with some contempt. “I suppose I hought to thank you, but since she was hinticed away, I can't. When one 'as her feelings 'arrowed up for nearly a week as mine have been 'arrowed, one can't feel thankful. I will send these 'ere things back by Jarvey. Well, ladies and gentlemen, let me bid you good evening. The performance 'as already begun and we professionals cannot shirk business.”
“You give an exhibition in Greenfield to-night, do you?” inquired the lawyer.
“Yes, sir,” replied the woman, standing with Carrie in arms. She had some difficulty in getting at her pocket, but threw him a handbill.