When she was alone Gretel sat quite still for several minutes; her hands lying idly in her lap. She was thinking hard. It was quite true that she had not been happy, but she had not supposed Mrs. Marsh or her daughter had noticed that fact. Dora was the first one of all the long list of maids who had come and gone during her residence with Mrs. Marsh who had ever taken any particular interest in her. Dora was rough, and not very neat, but Gretel had liked her, and there did not seem to be many people to like, now that her father was dead, and all the old friends had gone out of her life. The colored woman who now filled Dora’s place was anything but prepossessing, and Ada had been suffering from a cold, which always made her more cross and exacting than usual. She had not meant to be sullen. She had tried very hard to be grateful, as Mrs. Marsh had so often told her she ought to be. She really had no idea that Mrs. Marsh had cared whether she was happy or not.
“I wonder if she truly does care,” she reflected. “She doesn’t always say things that are quite true. It wasn’t true when she told Mr. Pendleton she would rather hear a symphony concert than go to the theater. She doesn’t really love music a bit, and I don’t believe she loves me, either, though she told that lady who was here the other day, that I was as dear to her as her own child. I don’t suppose anybody will ever love me very much now I haven’t got Father any more.”
Suddenly, without quite knowing why she was doing it, Gretel found herself crying—crying so hard that the stockings rolled off her lap onto the floor, and she buried her face in her hands, and shook from head to foot with great choking sobs.
But the cry did her good, and being a plucky little soul, she soon cheered up again, dried her eyes, picked up the stockings, and went on with her darning.
When the stockings were finished, and put away in Ada’s drawer, Gretel went to the window to look out. The sun was shining, but there was a fierce wind blowing, which rattled the window frames, and sent great clouds of dust into the faces of the passers-by. It did not look like a very pleasant afternoon for a walk. Gretel glanced over across the street at fairy-land, which was closed and deserted that afternoon, but there was nothing surprising about that fact, for it was only Friday, and fairy-land was seldom open on any afternoon but Saturday. But as Gretel glanced at the familiar building, her eye was caught by an announcement, which was posted up in large letters “Saturday Matinee, 2 P. M., Lohengrin.”
Gretel caught her breath in a little gasp, and just then she saw two young girls come out of the opera house, and one of them paused on the steps to put an envelope into her purse.
“She’s been buying a ticket,” said the child to herself. “I wonder if it’s for ‘Lohengrin.’ Oh, how very happy she must be!”
But there was nothing to be gained by standing there dreaming of impossibilities, and she must hurry if she intended to do Ada’s errand, and be at home again before dark. So she turned resolutely away from the window, and ten minutes later was toiling up Broadway in the teeth of the fierce March wind, carrying the big box, containing Miss Marsh’s new dress.
It was nearly a mile to the dressmaker’s, and the box was heavy for small weak arms to carry, but no one had suggested her taking a car, and as her supply of ready money consisted of but three pennies, riding was out of the question. It was very cold, although it was the middle of March, and by the time Gretel reached her destination her teeth were chattering, and she was shivering from head to foot.
Relieved of her burden, however, the walk home was more comfortable, and for the first few blocks she almost ran, to get her blood in circulation. Then she suddenly realized that she was very tired, and the poor little feet began to lag once more.