"Who is this?" she asked, staring at the strange little girl, for although
the parson's wife had told her all about the new member of the family to
come that day, Grandma was so bewildered by being suddenly aroused from her
sleep, she had forgotten all about it. "Hey, who is it?"
Peletiah, not having had time to put down the butter-pat, now came up and
presented it with all due formality.
"But who is this little gal?" asked Grandma, as he set the butter-pat in
the middle of the checked apron over her lap.
"She's Rachel," said Peletiah.
"Eh? What?" Grandma held a shaking hand behind her ear. "Speak a little
louder, Peletiah; you know I'm a-growin' hard o' hearin', just a grain."
"Rachel," shouted Peletiah, as he stood still in his tracks in front of
her.
"Ain't well! Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Grandma, in a tone of great concern.
"What a pity!" and she turned and regarded the stranger with anxiety.
"Oh, dear me! You get away, Peletiah," commanded Rachel, brushing him
aside. So Peletiah, very glad to be released, moved off, and Rachel,
putting her mouth to the nodding cap-border, said very distinctly:
"Mrs. Fisher sent me to live at the minister's; I'm Rachel."
"Oh, my land o' Goshen!" exclaimed Grandma Bascom, lifting both hands in
delight. "Why, I can hear you splendid. You see, I'm only a grain deaf.
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