"From Aunt Rachel's letter, I should think she must be a dreadfully stiff sort of person," added audacious Jessie. "Please don't say that we shall have to go."
"Not so fast, my dear," returned her father. "Only one of you all can go, and I do not think either you or Maude could possibly be spared. But what does mamma say?"
"You know my wretched health, Henry," said Mrs. Harley. "I never could do without Maude to look after the housekeeping; and Jessie saves both school and governess for the younger ones. But then there is Edith. Why should not Edith go?"
Edith Harley
"Why, indeed?" repeated the doctor. "Edith does nothing but mischief—at least, so far as the account of her doings reaches my ears. She is quite too big for Jessie to teach, and we cannot afford to send her to a good school at present, which is the thing that ought to be done. It really seems to me a providential opening for Edith."
"Poor Edie!" sighed the mother again. "It would be a hard life for her, I am afraid."
"Oh, nonsense, Maria! You were always unjust to Rachel. You think, because she took such deep offence, that there can be nothing good in her. Surely I ought to know my own sister's character! Rachel would do her duty by any inmate of her home—of that I am quite certain."
"Well, Henry, it would be a help in many ways. Edith is growing such a great girl, nearly fifteen now, and if it would lighten your cares to have her provided for, I ought not to resist. But at least it would be well to let her know what you think of doing, and hear what she says."
"I don't know that what she says need affect the question much. The fact is, Maria, something will have to be done. We are exceeding what we can afford even now, and the children will be growing more expensive instead of less so. For my own part, I can only feel glad of Rachel's offer. I must go now; but you can tell Edith, if you like; and tell her, too, to hold herself in readiness, for the sooner the matter is settled the better."
Edith Harley, called indifferently by her brothers and sisters the Middle One and the Odd One, was the third daughter and the fifth child of this family of nine. She was a rather tall, awkward girl, who grew out of her frocks, and tumbled her hair, and scandalised her elder sisters, in their pretty prim young ladyhood, by playing with the boys and clinging obstinately, in spite of her fifteen years, to her hoop and skipping-rope. An unfortunate child was this chosen one, always getting into scrapes, and being credited with more mischief than she ever really did.