“I think I like this Mary,” said I. Then, looking them over as scornfully as I could, I went on coldly: “Very well, I'll take your story to Mrs. Brane. I will tell her that you want to leave at once. No, don't waste any more time. Do your work, and be prepared to pack your trunks. I think Mrs. Brane may be glad to have you go.”
But I was really very much surprised to find that I was right in this. Mrs. Brane almost eagerly consented, and even seemed to feel relief.
“By all means pack them off as soon as you can. I shall advertise for a man and wife to take their places. It will mean some pretty hard work for Mary and you for a short time, I am afraid, as I simply will not have any of these blacks in the house. But—”
I did n't in the least mind hard work, and I told her so and hastened to give the result of my interview, first to Annie, Delia, and Jane, who, to my satisfaction, seemed quite as much dashed as relieved at the readiness with which their mistress let them go, and, second, to Mary, the nurse.
CHAPTER III—MARY
I FOUND Mary, with Robbie, in the garden. She got up from her rustic chair under a big magnolia tree, and came hurrying to meet me, more to keep me from her charge, I thought, than to shorten my walk.
I
She need not have distressed herself. I felt keenly enough Robbie's daytime fear of me, but that I should inspire horrible dreams of red-haired women bending over his bed at night, filled me with a real terror of the child. I would not, for anything, have come near to him.
I stopped and waited for Mary.
She looked as fresh and sturdy as some hardy blooming plant, nothing “peaky” about her that I could see: short and trim with round, loyal eyes, round, ruddy face, a pugnacious nose, and a bull-dog's jaw—not pretty, certainly, but as trusty and delightful to look at as health, and honesty, and cleanliness could make her. I rejoiced in her that morning, and I have rejoiced in her ever since, even during that worst time when her trust in me wavered a little, a very little.
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