I guess
you'll repent, brother, ever bringing her here."
"'Twas Aunt Jerusha," declared Peletiah bluntly, "and I wish she'd go
home."
"Hush, hush, dear," said his mother, looking up into his face.
There was an awful pause, the parson drew a long breath, then he turned to
his sister.
"Jerusha," he said, "I wish you would go into the sitting-room, if you
please."
"An' let you pet that beggar child," she exclaimed, in shrill scorn, but
she stalked off.
Mr. Henderson went swiftly across the kitchen and knelt down by his wife.
"Rachel"--he put his hand on the little girl's head--"get directly up, my
child!"
Rachel lifted her eyes, and peered about. "Has she gone--that dreadful,
bad, old woman?"
"There is no one here but those who love you," said the minister. "Now,
child, get directly up and sit in that chair." He indicated the one, and in
a minute Rachel was perched on it, with streaming eyes. Peletiah, having
started to get a towel, and in his trepidation presenting the dish-rag, the
parson dried her tears on his own handkerchief.
"Now, then, that is better," he said, in satisfaction, as they all grouped
around her chair.
"Rachel, there mustn't be anything of this sort--tears, I mean--again.
That lady is my sister, and----"
_"Your sister!"_ screamed Rachel, precipitating herself forward on her
chair in imminent danger of falling on her nose, to gaze at him in
amazement.
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