"
"Yes, you were, Master Thurstan; you were a fine bouncing lad of
three year old and better."
Then she remembered the change she had wrought in the "fine
bouncing lad," and her eyes filled with tears, which she was too
proud to wipe away with her apron; for, as she sometimes said to
herself, "she could not abide crying before folk."
"Well, it's no use talking, Sally," said Miss Benson, too anxious
to speak to be any longer repressed. "We've promised to keep her,
and we must do it; you'll have none of the trouble, Sally, so
don't be afraid."
"Well, I never! as if I minded trouble! You might ha' known me
better nor that. I've scoured master's room twice over, just to
make the boards look white, though the carpet is to cover them,
and now you go and cast up about me minding my trouble. If them's
the fashions you've learnt in Wales, I'm thankful I've never been
there."
Sally looked red, indignant, and really hurt. Mr. Benson came in
with his musical voice and soft words of healing.
"Faith knows you don't care for trouble, Sally; she is only
anxious about this poor young woman, who has no friends but
ourselves. We know there will be more trouble in consequence of
her coming to stay with us; and I think, though we never spoke
about it, that in making our plans we reckoned on your kind help,
Sally, which has never failed us yet when we needed it."
"You've twice the sense of your sister, Master Thurstan, that you
have.
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