Part 48 (2/2)

”Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Parrott, pulling her head out of the cupboard, ”did you hurt yourself, child?”

”No'm,” said Rachel, getting up with a very red face, and exceedingly ashamed. ”I don't believe I broke it.” She set the cricket up in its proper position and anxiously examined it all over.

”Oh, no,” said Miss Parrott rea.s.suringly, ”the cricket is not harmed. See here, Rachel”--she held in her hand a long string of little irregular things that dangled as she turned toward her--”I am going to put these on your neck. Now stand still, child.” And suiting the action to the words, something snapped with a little click under Rachel's chin.

Rachel looked down quickly at the queer little odd-shaped red things, hanging over her breast.

”I used to wear them when I was a little girl, very much smaller than you,”

said Miss Parrott, her head on one side and falling back to see the effect.

”What are they?” asked Rachel, not daring to lay a finger on them, and holding her breath at the idea of being within the magnificent circle of Miss Parrott's early adornments.

”Red coral beads,” said Miss Parrott, smiling at the nice contrast between the necklace and the dark little face above. ”Now, child, you are going to wear them whenever you come to visit me and as long as you stay. And that means they will not come off till to-morrow, for you are to sleep here to-night.”

”I haven't any nightgown,” said Rachel, who by this time liked to stay well enough, but seeing here an insuperable objection.

”That's easily managed,” said Miss Parrott, quickly; ”I shall send a note to the parsonage, saying you will stay, and----”

At the mention of ”note” Rachel suddenly collapsed, and a look of terror spread over her face.

”Oh, I forgot,” she cried.

”Why, what is the matter, child?” demanded Miss Parrott, in great concern.

”I must go and get it,” said Rachel wildly, and, das.h.i.+ng blindly off, she left Miss Parrott standing in front of her ancestral cupboard holding her childish treasures, to rush over the long and winding back stairs. At their end she found herself hopelessly entangled in an array of back pa.s.sages and little old-fas.h.i.+oned apartments, from which, run as she would, she could never seem to find the right exit.

Her progress was noted with indignation and contempt by as many of the old retainers in the Parrott service as could be gathered at short notice, and their calls to her to leave the premises, accompanied by sundry shakings of a long crash towel in the hands of the cook, only impeded Rachel's hope of success.

”I don't know the way out,” she cried at last, finding herself in a big closet whose door, being open, she fondly trusted would allow her pa.s.sage out into the free air.

”Well, 'tisn't here,” said an angry voice, and the brandis.h.i.+ng of a big, iron spoon made Rachel beat a hasty retreat, this time into the back hall.

Miss Parrott was just descending the stairs, her stiff, black silk skirt held high, before she set foot in the servants' quarters.

”Child, child,” she said in reproach, ”what _is_ the matter?”

”Oh, I've lost the note--I mean, I forgot it.” Rachel flew to her and wailed it all out.

”She's crying, that bad girl is, all over Mistress's front breadth,”

announced Joanna, the parlor maid, through the little window of the butler's pantry.

”La me!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the cook, raising her hands and the crash towel, ”to think of our mistress so demeaning herself!”

”What note?” cried Miss Parrott, in great bewilderment. ”Rachel, stop crying at once and speak plainly. What note do you mean?”

”The one Mrs. Henderson gave me,” cried Rachel; ”I must go and get it, but I don't know the way out.”

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