As she set her foot on the first plank of the bridge she heard a little
rumble of sound, and down the road came a light, two-seated vehicle,
with coloured driver, and Miss Lydia Sessions taking her sister's
children out for an early morning drive. There was a frail, long-visaged
boy of ten sitting beside his aunt in the back, with a girl of eight
tucked between them. The nurse on the front seat held the youngest
child, a little girl about Deanie's age.
As they came nearer, the driver drew up, evidently in obedience to Miss
Sessions's command, and she leaned forward graciously to speak
to Johnnie.
"Good morning, John," said Miss Sessions as the carriage stopped. "Whose
children are those?"
"They are my little sisters and brothers," responded Johnnie, looking
down with a very pale face, and busying herself with Deanie's hair.
"And you're taking them over to the mill, so that they can learn to be
useful. How nice that is!" Lydia smiled brightly at the little ones--her
best charity-worker's smile.
"No," returned Johnnie, goaded past endurance, "I'm going over to see if
I can get them to refuse to take this one." And she bent and picked
Deanie up, holding her, the child's head dropped shyly against her
breast, the small flower-like face turned a bit so that one blue eye
might investigate the carriage and those in it.
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