“You’ll come around again this afternoon, Miss Hobbs, to close the house?”
“For certain, Mrs. Rowe. I’ll close the ’ouse, and take charge of the key.”
“Which key, Miss Hobbs? Hop Kee, or door-key?” asked Kirke, with mock innocence.
“Not Hop Kee, you may rely on that, Master Kirke,” retorted Miss Hobbs, putting on her shawl as if it had been a bandage. “I wouldn’t take charge of a Chinaman for all the teapots he could break.”
“Hop Kee will work for the Bradstreets while we’re away, Miss Hobbs.”
“So there is where he’s going. I knew the captain’s housekeeper was sick.”
“And when the family move into camp, they’ll take Hop Kee along with them.”
Captain Bradstreet’s name had reminded Weezy of her old grievance.
“O Miss Hobbs! Captain Bradstreet has ’vited Kirke and Molly to go into that camp thing, and he hasn’t ever ’vited me,” she complained, holding the door ajar for Miss Hobbs to pass out. “I don’t think it’s fair.”
“Never mind, little woman! You’ll have your share of hinvitations before many years,”—Miss Hobbs gave the others a wise look. “I’m sorry to ’ave you all go; but I ’ope you’ll ’ave a good summer, and I pray the Lord’ll keep you well and ’appy.”