“And so this is Sophie!” she exclaimed. “Why you poor, poor child!” And she gazed at the little mill girl with her stunted figure and pinched cheeks, and her patched and threadbare dress; and Sophie, in her turn, gazed at the wonderful princess, tall and stately, glowing with health and voluptuous beauty.
“And you work in our cotton mill!” she cried.
“How perfectly terrible! And do you mean to tell me that this child is thirteen years old, Samuel?”
“Yes, Miss Gladys,” said he.
She turned quickly and pressed a button on the wall. “Send Mrs. Harris here,” she said to the man who answered.
“Mrs. Harris is our housekeeper,” she added to Samuel. “I will consult her about it.”
The “consulting” was very brief. “Mrs. Harris, this is Sophie Stedman, a little girl I want to help. I don't know what she can do, but you will find out. I want her to have some sort of a place in the house—and it mustn't be hard work.”
“But, Miss Gladys,” said the other in perplexity, “I don't know of anything at all!”
“You can find something,” was the young lady's reply. “I want her to have a chance to learn. Take her downstairs and have a talk with her about it.”
“Yes, Miss Gladys,” said Mrs. Harris; and so Samuel was left alone with his goddess.