"Oh, yes! if I need not do it with a shiftless Irish girl to drive
me distracted by pretending to help. I have lived out, and did not
find it hard while I had my good Hepsey. I was second girl, and can
set a table in style. Shall I try now?" she asked, as the old lady
went into a little dining-room with fresh napkins in her hand.
"Yes, but we have no style here. I will show thee once, and
hereafter it will be thy work, as thy feet are younger than mine."
A nice old-fashioned table was soon spread, and Christie kept
smiling at the contrast between this and Mrs. Stuart's. Chubby
little pitchers appeared, delicate old glass, queer china, and tiny
tea-spoons; linen as smooth as satin, and a quaint tankard that
might have come over in the "May-flower."
"Now, will thee take that pitcher of water to David's room? It is at
the top of the house, and may need a little dusting. I have not been
able to attend to it as I would like since I have been alone," said
Mrs. Sterling.
Rooms usually betray something of the character and tastes of their
occupants, and Christie paused a moment as she entered David's, to
look about her with feminine interest.
It was the attic, and extended the whole length of the house.
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