The maid looked at her perplexedly. Small and pretty persons in shabby brown with nice voices and the ways of a lady did not often come knocking at this door demanding to see the mistress, and not by name.
“I don’t think—” the maid began doubtfully.
“Tell her that I shall not keep her,” said Mother Margaret clearly. “But I must see her. Tell her that I do not know her, but that I am her neighbor, across the court.
Then the maid gave way. There is something about that word “neighbor” that is a talisman. With, “I’ll see,” the maid ushered her in. She stood weakly in the small and pretty reception-room while the maid went to call her mistress. Then there came a step, and a voice.
Mother Margaret hardly looked at this woman. She saw someone in gray, with a practical face of concern; then she saw nothing but direct and rather pleasant eyes looking into hers.
“Madam,” said Mother Margaret, simply, “you have out on your fire-escape a little Christmas tree. Christmas isn’t till day after to-morrow. To-morrow, for a little while, could you lend me that tree?”
“Lend you—” repeated the woman, uncertainly.
“I live just back of you,” Mother Margaret went on breathlessly. “I saw the tree. I thought—if you could lend it to me a little while to-morrow—oh, just as it is! and just till you get ready to trim it. I could bring it back quite promptly. Nothing should happen to it. And I could fix it up—just for a little while. My—my little boy never has seen a tree trimmed,” she added.
“My dear!” said the woman.
This, Mother Margaret thought, would be the exclamation at the impossibility of doing anything so wild. She looked miserably down at the floor. And so she did not see someone else come into the room, until a soft quick step was close beside her.