"I did, honey," said Miss Jerusha, speaking as gently as she knew how, which is not saying much.
"Where is mamma?"
"Oh, she's—how did you sleep last night?" said Miss Jerusha, actually quailing inwardly in anticipation of the coming scene; for, with her strong nerves and plain, practical view of things in general, the good old lady had a masculine horror of scenes.
"Where is my mamma?" said the child, sharply, fixing her piercing black eyes on Miss Jerusha's face.
"Oh, she's—well, she ain't here."
"Where is she, then? You ugly old thing, what have you done to my mamma?"
"Ugly old thing! Oh, dear bless me! there's a way to speak to her elders!" said the deeply shocked Miss Jerusha.
"Where's my mamma?" exclaimed the child, with a fierce stamp of the foot.
"Little gal, look here! that ain't no way to talk to—"
"Where's my mamma?" fairly shrieked the little girl, as she sprang forward and clutched Miss Jerusha's arm so fiercely as to extort from her a cry of pain.