Part 7 (2/2)
”What sort? Oh, do tel me!”
”No; that's my secret. But I've spoke out plain with the old woman, and I'm comin' yere Sat.u.r.day night--not to stay, bless yer! no, but to do hodd jobs for her; for one thing, to look arter you when she's out. I 'spect she'll get Ronald back now you ha' come.”
”Ronald!” cried Connie. ”Who's he?”
”Never you mind; you'll know when yer see of 'im.”
”Then I'm a prisoner,” said Connie--”that's what it means.”
”Well, well! take it like that ef yer like. Ain't it natural that Mrs.
Warren should want yer to stay now she ha' got yer? When yer stays willin'-like, as yer will all too soon, then yer'll 'ave yer liberty.
Hin an' out then yer may go as yer pleases; there'll be naught to interfere. Yer'll jest do yer dooty then, and yer dooty'll be to please old Mammy Warren.”
”Has my father missed me?” asked Connie, who saw by this time that she could not possibly cope with Agnes; if ever she was to effect her escape from this horrible place, it must be by guile.
”'Ow is father?” she asked. ”'Ave he missed me yet?”
”Know nothing 'bout him. Don't think he have, for the boys, d.i.c.k and Hal, was 'ome when I come back. They 'ad no news for me at all.”
”You saw Sue to-day?”
”Yus, I saw her, an' I kep' well away from her.”
”Agnes,” said Connie in a very pleading voice, ”ef I must stay 'ere--an'
I don't know wot I ha' done to be treated like this--will yer take a message from me to little Giles?”
”Wot sort?” asked Agnes.
”Tell 'im straight from me that I can't come to see 'im for a few days, an' ax him to pray for me; an' tell him that I 'ears the Woice same as he 'ears the Woice, and tell 'im as it real comforts me. Wull yer do that, Agnes--wull yer, now?”
”Maybe,” said Agnes; then after a pause she added, ”Or maybe I won't. I 'ates yer Methody sort o' weak-minded folks. That's the worst o' you, Connie; you're real weak-minded, for all ye're so purty, what wid yer 'prays' an' yer Woice, indeed!”
”Hark! it's sounding now,” said Connie.
She raised her little delicate hand, and turned her head to listen. The splendid notes filled the air. Connie murmured something under her breath.
”I know wot Giles 'ud say 'bout the Woice to-night,” she murmured.
But Agnes burst into a loud laugh.
”My word!” she said. ”You 're talkin' o' Big Ben. Well, you be a caution.”
”_He that shall endure_,” whispered Connie; and then a curious hidden suns.h.i.+ne seemed to come out and radiate her small face. She folded her hands. The impatience faded from her eyes. She sat still and quiet.
”Wot hever's the matter with yer?” asked Agnes.
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