Alas for human foresight!
The next day, at sundown, a loaded wagon drove up; then a carryall, from
which stepped an elderly couple and a sweet pretty girl.
"What angel is that, alighting upon earth?" I exclaimed, looking over
Miss Joey's head.
"Thought she was goin' to be a little girl," said she.
"Wal," replied Mr. Lane, "that's what he called her: suppose she seems
little to him. But so much the better. The bigger she is, the more
company she'll be."
Miss Joey went in to receive them, and I retired to my chamber. From the
window I observed that the pretty girl was very handy about helping, and
heard her mother call her Mary Ellen.
The next morning, just as I was leaving for the office, I heard a quick
step across the entry. The door opened, and "the little girl," Mary
Ellen, came in. Her hair was pushed straight behind her ears, and her
sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.
"I came in," said she, rather bashfully, "to ask if Mr. Lane would help
us set up a bedstead; father had to go, and mother's feeble."
"Mr. Lane's gone to get his horse shod," said Miss Joey.
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