She will be a good friend to you."
"I don't want no friends," said Rachel doggedly, in her distress relapsing
into her old tenement-house disregard of the rules of speech; "no more 'n
I've got her."
"Ah, child, that is not a wise way to talk," said Mrs. Henderson, shaking
her head. "One cannot have too many friends."
"She'd be too many," said Rachel; "that old woman that came the other day
in that carriage all full of bones."
"You must not talk so, dear. She is a very fine woman. Now, Rachel, she has
asked to have you spend the day there, and we have promised that you shall
go."
There was an awful pause. A big blue-bottle over in the corner under the
rafters was making a final decision to explore the filmy lace web beneath
the window where a fat old spider had been patiently waiting for him, and
he gave his last buzz of freedom before he hopped in. This was all the
sound that broke the silence. Rachel held her breath, and fixed her black
eyes at a point straight ahead, positively sure if she withdrew her gaze
she would burst out crying.
"So you will be ready to go at ten o'clock, Rachel, for Miss Parrott will
send for you then," Mrs. Henderson was saying. And in a minute more the
parson's wife was going down the garret stairs; Rachel, with a heart full
of woe, slowly following, leaving the big garret to the fat old spider, who
was busily weaving her silken threads in glee over her prisoner.
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