When Sunday morning dawned the place was, according to Hannah's ideas,
in perfect order. She had not got in any one to help her, and I am
afraid she must have been nearly dropping with fatigue. She allowed me
to dust a little, but would not permit me to do any harder work.
"No, no," she said--"no, no; you're the young lady, and I'm a poor
drudge. It's right that the drudge should work, and not the young
lady."
I proceeded to try to remind her that she had not considered my young
ladyhood much in the past.
"Things is different now," said Hannah. "I have got to look after you
now."
"But why so?" I asked.
"I had a dream in the night," she said. "Your poor mother come to me,
and she said, `Don't leave my children, Hannah.' Oh dear! oh dear! she
as was killed--as was killed!"
To my amazement, Hannah burst out crying. When she cried I rushed to
her and flung my arms round her neck and cried also.
"Oh, I am so glad you won't leave us!" I said. I felt like a most
terrible little martyr, and Hannah's sympathy soothed me inexpressibly.
That evening--it was Saturday--I told Alex and Charley and Von Marlo
about Hannah's dream.
"Rot, I call it!" said Charley.
"Oh Charley, you are very unkind!"
"Well, I'm sure," said Charley, "why should she have been so cross and
disobliging when we really wanted somebody--when we had no sort of
mother? Now that we're going to have that jolly, fat, round woman to
look after us and to see to our comforts, Hannah is beginning to find
out what her duties are."
"Things will work themselves right," said Von Marlo in his solemn way.
"Take my word for it, Rachel, things will shape themselves right."
I didn't think Von Marlo half so comforting as Hannah on this occasion,
and I almost said so, for I felt very snappish.
That night I scarcely slept at all. To-morrow would find us with that
detestable person in the house--"the new mamma." Of course, she wasn't
my mamma, but the world would speak of her in that manner, just as Von
Marlo had once done. He would never say those words to my face again.
I went to church on Sunday morning, accompanied by Alex and Charley. As
we were coming back Augusta Moore rushed up to me.
"I thought you were very ill," she said. "We all thought so--Miss
Franklin, your form mistress, and all."
"I'm not a bit ill," I said. I did not want Augusta's sympathy, or,
indeed, to say anything at all to her just then.
"Then why didn't you come to school?"