Part 14 (1/2)

”Oh, husband, I am sure you are quite as tired as I am,” and the color flew into her cheeks like a girl. But he had his way.

”You better leave the door open”--as he went across the room to close it--”Jerusha may call.”

”Jerusha won't need us,” he said, and shut it.

”You know the doctor said she was not much hurt, only strained and bruised, and she's quite comfortable now. Well, my dear, now about this letter. Do you think we might take this child?”

”We?” repeated his wife, with wide eyes. ”Why, husband!”

”I know it seems a somewhat peculiar thing to propose”--and the parson smiled--”with our two boys and Jerusha.”

”Yes,” said Mrs. Henderson, ”it is, and I never thought seriously of it.”

”She won't do Peletiah any harm”--and then he laughed--”and she might brighten him up, if she's the girl Mrs. Fisher's letter indicates. And as for Ezekiel, there's no harm to be thought of in that quarter. Our boys aren't the ones, wife, to be influenced out of their orbits.”

”Well, there's Jerusha.” Mrs. Henderson brought it out fearfully, and then shut her mouth as if she wished she hadn't said anything.

”I know, dear. You needn't be afraid to speak it out. It is always on my mind. Oh, I do wish--” and the parson began to pace the floor with troubled steps.

His wife threw back the old sofa-blanket with which he had tucked her up, and bounded to his side, pa.s.sing her hand within his arm.

”Don't, dear,” she begged. ”Oh, why did I speak!” she cried remorsefully.

”You said no more than what is always on my mind,” said the minister again, and he pressed the hand on his arm, looking at it fondly. ”Poor Almira!” he said, ”I didn't think how hard you would have to work to please her, when I took her here.”

”But you couldn't help it, husband,” she cried, looking up at him with a world of love. ”After your mother died, what place was there for her to go?

And she really was good to her.”

”Yes,” said the minister, and he sighed. ”Well, it's done, and she is here; but oh, Almira, I think it's made a great difference with our boys.”

Mrs. Henderson's cheek paled, but it wouldn't do to let him see her thoughts further on the subject, he was so worn and tired, so she said:

”Well, about the little girl, husband?”

”Yes, Mrs. Fisher's letter must be answered,” said the parson, pulling himself out of his revery. ”She asks if we can find a place in Badgertown for this child, who seems uncommonly clever, and is, so she writes, very truthful. And I'm sure, Almira, if Mrs. Fisher says so, the last word has been spoken.”

”Yes, indeed,” said his wife heartily.

”And they've found out a great deal about her. She's been half starved and cruelly beaten.”

The parson's wife hid her tender eyes on her husband's coat sleeve.

”Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed sympathetically.

”And the old woman who pretended to be her grandmother, and who beat her because she wouldn't steal, became frightened at the investigation, and has cleared out, so there is no one to lay a claim to 'Rag.'”

”To whom?” asked Mrs. Henderson, raising her head suddenly.

”Rag--that's the only name the child says she has. But Mrs. Fisher writes they call her Rachel now. You didn't notice that when you read the letter, did you, Almira?”

”No,” said his wife, ”I didn't have time to read more than part of it.