"It is a pleasant place, isn't it?" observed Miss Parrott with complacent
memory of always living in the grandest homestead for several counties.
"No, ma'am," said Rachel promptly.
Miss Parrott started, and gave a little gasp. Then, reflecting it was not
in accordance with fine manners to notice any such slip on the part of
guests, she led the way into the mansion. Simmons, much shocked, actually
forgot himself so far as to scratch his head, as he drove off to the
stables, and he didn't get over it all day.
"Perhaps you would like a little refreshment," suggested Miss Parrott,
when, the child's bonnet off, she was seated on the edge of a stiff,
high-backed chair. She couldn't think of anything else to say, and as she
usually offered it to her friends at the end of their long drives when they
called upon her, it seemed a happy thing to do now, especially as Rachel's
black eyes were fastened upon her in a manner extremely uncomfortable for
the person gazed at.
As Rachel didn't know in the least what "refreshment" meant, she stared on,
without a word. And Miss Parrott, pulling with more vigor than was her
wont, a long red worsted cord that hung down by the piano, a stately butler
made his appearance quicker than usual, took his directions from his
mistress, and after regarding the small figure perched on one of the
ancestral Parrott chairs with extreme disfavor, he silently withdrew.
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