"Oh, any one, so that it be not Mr. Clancy," replied her aunt irritably.
"Were it not that you so needed a protector, I could wish that I were
dead."
"Aunt," said Mara, gently yet firmly, "we must give up this hopeless,
bitter kind of talk. I, at least, must do something to earn honest bread,
and I am too depressed and sad at heart to carry any useless burdens. Mr.
Clancy said much that was wrong last night, and there are matters about
which he and I can never agree, but surely he was right in saying that my
father and mother would not wish to see me crushed body and soul. If I am
to live, I must find a way to live and yet keep my self-respect. I suppose
the natural way would be to go to those who knew my father and
grandfather; but they would ask me what I could do. What could I tell
them? It would seem almost like asking charity."
"Of course it would," assented her aunt.
Then silence fell between them.
Before Mara could finish her morning duties and prepare for the street, a
heavy step was heard on the stairs, then a knock at the door. Opening it,
the young girl saw the very object of her thoughts, for Aun' Sheba's ample
form and her great basket filled all the space.
"Oh, Aun' Sheba," cried the girl, a gleam of hope lighting up her eyes,
"I'm so glad to see you. I was just starting for your cabin."
"Bress your heart, honey, Aun' Sheba'll allus be proud to hab you come.
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