Miss Scrimp was unusually cross that night at the supper table. There
was less than the usual quantity of thin-sliced bread and butter on
the table. The butter, ever scanty, was less by two plates, and the
crackers altogether missing. When the boarders answered the cracked
bell, and Hattie Butler took her usual seat close on her right, Miss
Scrimp quite forgot to say, as she generally did, “good-evening, dear.”
Miss Scrimp was all out of sorts, and she evidently didn’t care who
knew it--or, perhaps, meant they all should know it. One of the girls,
Wild Kate, the rest called her, she was ever so odd, willful, and
daring, happened to ask why the table was like a worn-out whip-lash,
and as no one could respond to the conundrum, she gave the solution
herself. She said there was no cracker on it.
“There’s no need of crackers when such snappish things are around as
you are!” shrieked Miss Scrimp.
“This butter was made from milk that came from a very old cow. I’ve
found three gray hairs in a very small piece, just enough to match the
wafer-like thickness of this stale bread,” said Kate, never at a loss
for a venomous reply when attacked by Miss Scrimp.
“Them that doesn’t like what I set before ’em can go farther and maybe
fare worse,” snarled Miss Scrimp.
As half the girls were tittering over the points Kate had made, the
latter was satisfied for the time, and Miss Scrimp’s last fling fell on
heedless ears.
In a little time the table was literally cleared, for girls who have
toiled all day, with but a slender, cold lunch for dinner, cannot but
be hungry at night.
When the table was deserted poor Jessie looked in vain for a scrap for
her supper. Miss Scrimp saw it, but she felt too cross and ugly to
care, and so poor Jessie went without any supper, while Biddy Lanigan
and her mistress, as usual, had their strong tea and extra dishes.
“Never mind, I’ve got Miss Hattie’s letter in my bosom, and I’ll tell
all about the old cat, and how she opened it, and what she threatened
to do to me if I told.”
And this revenge in prospect satisfied poor Jessie better than a good
supper would have done.
She could hardly wait to help clear up the table and wash the dishes,
so eager was she to get up to Hattie’s room. But the work was done at
last, and Jessie, after her usual round of abuse from Biddy Lanigan,
was sent off to bed, with orders to be astir before daylight, and ready
to go to market.
Now was her chance to see Hattie, for she had to pass Hattie’s room on
her way to the miserable closet in the attic loft, where she slept.
A trembling rap on the door of Hattie’s bedroom elicited a response in
the sweet, low voice of the bindery girl.
“Come in! Why, Little Jessie, is it you? Come in, dear, I have a nice
bit of cake for you that I bought as I was coming home.”
“Dear Miss Hattie, I thank you ever so much, but I’m not hungry,
though I haven’t had any supper. I’ve so much to tell you. Here is a
letter the postman brought to-day!”
And Jessie took the torn and crumpled letter from its hiding-place in
the bosom of her ragged dress.
“Why, Jessie, it has been opened!” exclaimed Hattie, in surprise, and
an angry flush overspread her face.
“Yes, Miss Hattie, and I went in and got it where it had been hidden,
or you would never have seen it!” said Jessie, “and if I am whipped to
death for it, I’ll tell you all about it.”
And bravely the poor little bound girl told the whole story, even as we
already know it.
“The cowardly, meddling, contemptible wretch!” was a very natural
ejaculation, and it came from Hattie’s lips.
But when she read the brief letter, and saw that neither place, date,
address nor signature was inside, a gleam of satisfaction took place of
the shadow on her face.
“Miss Scrimp has gained nothing by her audacious act,” she said. “But
it is necessary that I should teach her a lesson. I will write a note
to her, which you will take down to her. Leave it on her table, and
instantly go to your own room. If I need you I will call you.”
“And you will not let her whip me, will you, Miss Hattie?”
“No, Jessie. If she but offers to raise a finger to you, or speaks even
an unkind word to you for what you have done for me, I will send her to
prison for what she has done. Have no fear, my poor little dear. I will
protect you, and see that hereafter you are better treated than you
have ever been before in this house. And soon you shall tell me all you
know about yourself, as you promised me once you would, and perhaps if
you have parents living I can help you to find them.”
“Oh, Miss Hattie if ever there was an angel on earth you’re that one,”
said Jessie, trembling all over with joy.
Hattie turned to her table, and wrote in a plain, but elegant hand,
these words on a slip of paper:
“Miss Hattie Butler desires to see Miss Scrimp in her room up stairs
immediately on very important business.”
“Now take the cake I got for you, and put it in your pocket to eat when
you get to your own room, and then take this note and lay it on Miss
Scrimp’s table, and come right away before she can call you back to
question you,” said Hattie.
“Please, Miss Hattie, I haven’t got any pockets in my dress. Miss
Scrimp wouldn’t let me have any pockets in ’em for fear I’d put in
crackers or something when I’m hungry, and that is very often.”
“Then run and put it under your pillow before you go down stairs,” said
Hattie, smiling.
“Please, there’s no pillow to my bed. But I’ll hide it among the rags
there, and eat it so thankfully, for I am real hungry, since I told you
what Miss Scrimp did and how I saw it.”
And Jessie went and hid the cake, which was to be her only supper, and
then quickly returned for the note.
She ran down stairs light as a kitten, and finding Miss Scrimp’s door
ajar looked in and saw that lady--pardon the name--busy over the book
in which she kept her boarding accounts.
Jessie slipped in, dropped the paper over Miss Scrimp’s shoulder on the
table, and was out of the room so quickly that Miss Scrimp did not know
who brought the note.
But she trembled and turned pale when she read it.
“I wonder if that little brat of a bound girl has dared to tell her
about the letter?” she ejaculated. “No,” she continued, “it can’t be
that. Jess knows I’d skin her alive if she told, and she’d bite her
tongue off first. I’ll bet Miss Hattie wants to take a room lower down,
now that she is getting more than twice as much money a week as any
other girl in the house gets. That’s it; I’ll go right up. She is real
good pay, always cash down the day it is due, and no grumbling. I’ll
give her the best room in the house, and turn that saucy Kate Marmont
away, if she objects to giving it up. I wish I’d set Biddy Lanigan
a-going at her to-night; she would have wished the gray hairs in her
butter had got cross ways in her throat before she talked about ’em.”
And Miss Scrimp closed up her old account book, took up her hand-lamp,
and started up the steep, narrow, and dirty stairs toward Hattie
Butler’s room. She had been so surprised that she had not even asked
herself who could have left the note, nor even thought how it came
floating down on her table.
Almost breathless, she reached the landing in front of Hattie’s room,
and knocked at the door.
“Come in,” said Hattie, in a clear, distinct tone.
Hattie was sitting on her bed; her only chair was between her and the
door, near the table, and when Miss Scrimp took the seat Hattie pointed
to, the lamp-light from both her lamp and Hattie’s on the table, fell
strong on her angular, ugly face.
“I got your note, and came up quick as I could, dear,” said Miss
Scrimp, the moment she could gather breath enough to speak.
For the long, steep stairs tired her very severely.
“I suppose you’ve made up your mind to change your room and something
better, now you’re making ever so much money--eh, dear?” continued Miss
Scrimp.
“No, my business with you is of more importance than a change of rooms.
It may cause a change of residence for you, Miss Scrimp.”
“For me?” cried the ancient maiden, turning whiter than the pillow-case
on which Hattie rested her hand. “I can’t understand you, dear.”
“I will try to make my meaning quite plain before this interview is
over, Miss Scrimp. Did the postman leave a letter here for me to-day?”
“The postman!” fairly gasped Miss Scrimp, her eyes a pale green, her
face ghastly in its hue. “I haven’t seen the postman to-day!”
“No matter whether you saw him or not. I ask a plain question in plain
words. Did the postman leave a letter here for me to-day?”
Miss Scrimp determined to brazen the matter right out.
“If he did he didn’t leave it with me. And if that’s all you’ve made me
climb them dreadful stairs for I don’t thank you. So now!”
“Be a little cautious and a trifle more respectful, Miss Scrimp!” said
Hattie sternly.
“Respectful? Suppose I ought to be to the cheapest boarder I’ve got
in the house. I’m not going to stay here to be insulted by a bindery
girl.”
And the angry spinster arose, and with her lamp in her hand started for
the door.
“Stop! Come back and sit down, or I will go for a police officer and
have you arrested for an offense which will land you in the State
prison!” cried Hattie.
“Police officer--arrest me?” gasped Miss Scrimp.
But she came back, put her lamp on the table, and sat down.
“Now tell me what you want. Don’t try to scare a poor, nervous old
creetur like me--please don’t, Miss Hattie.”
“I want the letter I know was brought to this house by the regular
letter carrier to-day!”
“Dear me, Miss Hattie, I’ve told you again and again I haven’t seen any
letter-carrier to-day.”
“Nor any letter for me, Miss Scrimp?”
“I vow to goodness, no!”
“Will you swear on the Bible you have not had a letter for me in your
possession to-day, Miss Scrimp?”
And Hattie reached beneath her pillow for the Sacred Book, which she
ever read for a few minutes each night before she closed her eyes in
sleep.
“You’ve no right to make me swear. I’ve told you I haven’t seen no
letter of yours, Miss Hattie, and that ought to satisfy you.”
“But it does not, Miss Scrimp. Your hesitation, if I had no other
proof, would condemn you. Now I know you had a letter of mine in your
hands to-day, and I want it.”
“I hain’t got any letter of yours to give you.”
“Then you will force me to get an officer and have you arrested.
I would have saved you the disgrace if I could, but since you are
obstinate I will let the law take its course. You can go to your room.
I will go for an officer.”
“Dear me, maybe some one has laid a letter for you down in my room.
If they have, I’ll go and bring it to you,” said Miss Scrimp, now
thoroughly frightened by the determined air and spirit of our heroine.
“Go, then, and look for it,” said Hattie. “But remember, Miss Scrimp,
if you are not here with the letter in just ten minutes, I will wait no
longer. I will not have my letters tampered with when the law protects
me in my rights.”
“I’ll find--I’m sure I’ll find it,” gasped the trembling spinster, and
she tottered to the door and went down stairs, shaking from head to
foot, leaving the door open in her haste.
“May I come in just one second?” asked Little Jessie, who now showed
herself at the door, with her cake, half gone, in her hand.
“No, dear, not till I am through with her,” said Hattie. “I don’t want
her to see you, or ever know how I found my letter, if I can help it.”
“Oh, wasn’t it fun to see her turn white and green and shake all over?”
said Jessie. “This cake is just awful good, Miss Hattie, but I’d go
hungry to bed every night of my life just to see that old heathen get
such a scare.”
“There, there, run to your room, like a good, dear Little Jess,” cried
Hattie. “I hear the old thing shuffling up stairs again. I’ll see what
new device she offers to stave off her fate, and then, as the soldiers
say, I’ll unmask my battery.”
Little Jessie vanished, and only just in time, for, wheezing and
puffing like a sick cat, Miss Scrimp came up the stairs, and with a
face of an ashen hue, entered the room.