She sniveled softly as she went out, balancing it carefully against
her slender hip. Sophia followed her.
"Stop crying," said she sharply; "you ought to be ashamed of
yourself. What do you suppose Miss Louisa Stark will think. No
water in her pitcher in the first place, and then you come back
crying as if you didn't want to get it."
In spite of herself, Sophia's voice was soothing. She was very
fond of the girl. She followed her up the stairs to the chamber
where Miss Louisa Stark was waiting for the water to remove the
soil of travel. She had removed her bonnet, and its tuft of red
geraniums lightened the obscurity of the mahogany dresser. She had
placed her little beaded cape carefully on the bed. She was
replying to a tremulous remark of Amanda's, who was nearly fainting
from the new mystery of the water-pitcher, that it was warm and she
suffered a good deal in warm weather.
Louisa Stark was stout and solidly built. She was much larger than
either of the Gill sisters. She was a masterly woman inured to
command from years of school-teaching. She carried her swelling
bulk with majesty; even her face, moist and red with the heat, lost
nothing of its dignity of expression.
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