"And now something has really happened--for once. Prick up your ears, Charity! Ah, I see they are pricked up already," Lois went on merrily. "Now listen. This letter is from Mrs. Wishart."
"I will; but I want to tell you first. She says there is a certain friend of a friend of hers--a very nice person, a widow lady, who would like to live in the country if she could find a good place; and Mrs. Wishart wants to know, if _we_ would like to have her in our house."
Lois nodded, and watched the faces around her.
"No. The question is, whether we will do it now."
"Take her to board!" repeated Charity. "It would be a great bother. What room would you give her?"
"Rooms. She wants two. One for a sitting-room."
"Two! We couldn't, unless we gave her our best parlour, and had none for ourselves. _That_ wouldn't do."
"Unless she would pay for it," Lois suggested.
"How much would she pay? Does Mrs. Wishart say?"
"Guess, girls! She would pay--twelve dollars a week."
Charity almost jumped from her chair. Madge stood leaning with her hands upon the table and stared at her sister. Only the old grandmother went on now quietly with her knitting. The words were re-echoed by both sisters.
"Twelve dollars a week! Fifty dollars a month!" cried Madge, and clapped her hands. "We can have bonnets all round; and the hay and the apples won't matter. Fifty dollars a month! Why, Lois!--"
"It would be an awful bother," said Charity.
"Mrs. Wishart says not. At least she says this lady--this Mrs. Barclay--is a delightful person, and we shall like her so much we shall not mind the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so much trouble. And we do not use our parlour much. I'll read you the letter now."
So she did; and then followed an eager talk.
"She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose she will be contented with our ways of going on?" Charity queried.
"We can make it suit her," said Madge. "Just think--with fifty dollars a month--"
"But we're not going to keep a cook," Charity went on. "I won't do that. I can do _all_ the work of the house, but I can't do half of it. And if I do the cooking, I shall do it just as I have always done it. I can't go to fussing. It'll be country ways she'll be treated to; and the question is, how she'll like 'em?"