"Take it as easy as you can. They'll work you to death if you let them. And--if you need any help, _day or night_," he emphasized the words significantly, so that once again a pulse of fear throbbed in Sally's throat, "just call on me. Remember, I'm an orphan myself. But it's easier for a boy. The world can be mighty hard on a girl alone."
"Thank you," Sally trembled, her voice scarcely a whisper, for Mrs. Carson was moving heavily in the pantry nearby.
Fifteen minutes later, as Sally was sweeping the big kitchen, shouts of laughter and loud, gay words told her that the party of farm girls and boys had arrived. With David gone to his garret room to study, Sally suddenly felt very small and forlorn, very much what he had called her--a girl alone.
The sounds of boisterous gayety penetrated to every corner of the small house, but they echoed most loudly in Sally's heart. For she was sixteen with all the desires and dreams of any other girl of sixteen. And she loved parties, although she had never been to a small, intimate one in a private home in all her life.
She leaned on her broom, trembling, desire to have a good time fighting with her institution-bred timidity. Then she looked down at her dress--the blue-and-white-checked gingham, faded, dull, that she had worn for months at the orphanage. If they should come into the kitchen--any of those laughing, gay girls and boys--and find her in the uniform of state charity they would despise her, never dream of asking her to come in, to dance--
Her hands suddenly gripped her broom fiercely. Within a minute she had finished her last task of the evening, had brushed the crumbs and dust into the black tin dust pan, emptied it into the kitchen range. Then, breathless with haste, afraid that timidity would overtake her, she ran up the back stairs to the garret.
Her cold little hands trembled with eagerness as she jerked her work dress over her head and arrayed her slight body in the lace-trimmed white lawn "Sunday dress" which she had worn earlier in the day on her trip from the orphanage. Excitedly, she slapped her pale, faintly flushed cheeks to make them more red, then bit her lips hard in lieu of lipstick.
When she tiptoed down the dark hall of the garret she found David Nash's door ajar, caught a glimpse of the university student-farmhand bent over a pine table crowded with books.