A REAL CINDERELLA
CHAPTER I
CINDERELLA AT HOME
SHE did not know that she was a Cinderella, as she knelt on the floor putting on Miss Ada Marsh’s satin slippers. She had never even thought of such a possibility, and if any one had mentioned it to her she would have opened her big brown eyes very wide, and felt inclined to regard the suggestion as a rather foolish joke. In her own humble opinion she was not a person of the very least importance, being only little Gretel Schiller, whom nobody seemed to care very much about, and who lived with Mrs. Marsh, because there didn’t seem to be any other place for her to live. It seemed to her quite natural that she should make herself useful in the family, considering—as Mrs. Marsh frequently reminded her—that her half-brother, who lived in China, paid very inadequately for her support. But this evening her heart was beating fast and she was regarding Miss Ada Marsh with more interest than usual for was not that young lady actually going to fairy-land?
The slippers were small, and Miss Ada’s feet were large, so that the task of getting them on was a more difficult one than might have been at first supposed.
“Aren’t they—aren’t they just a little tight?” gasped Gretel, when several unsuccessful attempts had failed to produce the desired result.
“Not a bit,” responded Ada, with decision. “Just push the heel in more. There, that’s better. They do pinch a little, but that’s only because they’re new. They’ll be perfectly comfortable as soon as I’ve stretched them.” And Ada rose, and limped painfully across the room to the bureau.
“There, I believe I’m ready now, except my gloves. You can button them for me, and then just run and see if Mamma needs any help. It’s ten minutes to eight, and they always begin those long German operas promptly.”
“Oh, you mustn’t be late. It would be terrible to miss any of it,” said Gretel, anxiously. She was drawing a long white kid glove up over Miss Marsh’s plump arm.
Ada shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
“I shouldn’t mind missing a little,” she said. “All the Wagner operas are so long and so heavy. I wish Mr. Pendleton had asked us to go to the theater instead. There’s the door-bell; it must be Mr. Pendleton. My goodness! these slippers do need stretching. I’m thankful the opera house is just across the street; do hurry and finish Mamma. That Dora is so stupid about hooking her up. We mustn’t keep Mr. Pendleton waiting.”