"Yes, ma'am," Pearl answered quickly, "Mrs Francis paid ma with one once for the washing, but I don't know where it might be now."
Mrs. Motherwell looked at Pearl keenly. It was not easy to believe that that little girl would steal. Her heart was still tender after Polly's death, she did not want to be hard on Pearl, but the money must be some place.
"Pearl, I have lost a two-dollar bill. If you know anything about it I want you to tell me," she said firmly.
"I don't know anything about it no more'n ye say ye had it and now ye've lost it," Pearl answered calmly.
"Go up to your room and think about it," she said, avoiding Pearl's gaze.
Pearl went up the narrow little steps with a heart that swelled with indignation.
"Does she think I stole her dirty money, me that has money o' me own—a thief is it she takes me for? Oh, wirra! wirra! and her an' me wuz gittin' on so fine, too; and like as not this'll start the morgage and the cancer on her again."
Pearl threw herself on the hot little bed, and sobbed out her indignation and her homesickness. She could not put it off this time. Catching sight of her grief-stricken face in the cracked looking glass that hung at the head of the bed, she started up suddenly.
"What am I bleatin' for?" she said to herself, wiping her eyes on her little patched apron. "Ye'd think to look at me that I'd been caught stealin' the cat's milk"—she laughed through her tears—"I haven't stolen anything and what for need I cry? The dear Lord will get me out of this just as nate as He bruk the windy for me!"
She took her knitting out of the bird-cage and began to knit at full speed.