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islockedup.It’llbeMasterIknowwhoye’llbelooking
arter?”
Theyoungladyblusheddeeply–thequestionwas
hardlyshapedinthemostdelicateway.
“Therewasawomanina
barooche
,Ithinktheycall
it,askingwasanyonehere,andaskingverysharp
afterMaster,andItoldherhewasn’therethismany
aday,norliketobe–and’twasthatmademeabitshy
o’you;you’llunderstand,justforabit.”
“Andishe–isyourmaster?”–andshelookedround
theinteriorofthehouse.
“No,heb’aintcome;buthere’saletter–what’syour
name?”sheaddedabruptly,withasuddenaccess
ofsuspicion.
“MissMaybell,”answeredshe.
“Yes–well–you’llexcuseme,Miss,butIwastold
tobesharp,andwide-awake,yousee.Willyoucome
intothekitchen?”
Andwithoutawaitingheranswertheoldwomanled
thewayintothekitchen–amelancholychamber,with
twonarrowwindows,darkenedbythetreesnotfaroff,
thatovershadowedthehouse.
Acrookedlittlecurdog,withprotrudingribs,and
anairofstarvation,flewfuriouslyatMissMaybell,
assheentered,andwasrolledoveronhisback
byalustykickfromtheoldwoman’sshoe;andacat
sittingbeforethefire,bouncedunderthetable
toescapethechancesofbattle.
Alittlebitoffiresmoulderedinacornerofthe
grate.Anoakstool,adealchair,andabattered
balloon-backedone,importedfrombettercompany,
inacrazedandfadedstate,hadgrownweakerinthe
joints,andmoreraggedanddirtyinitsantiquefinery
initspresentfallenfortunes.Therewassomecracked
delfonthedresser,andsomethingwasstewing
inatallsaucepan,coveredwithabrokenplate,and
tothistheoldwomandirectedherattentionfirst,
stirringitscontents,andpeeringintoitforawhile;
andwhenshehadreplaceditcarefully,shetookthe
