"
Mrs. Motherwell looked at Pearl keenly. It was not easy
to believe that that little girl would steal. Her heart
was still tender after Polly's death, she did not want
to be hard on Pearl, but the money must be some place.
"Pearl, I have lost a two-dollar bill. If you know anything
about it I want you to tell me," she said firmly.
"I don't know anything about it no more'n ye say ye had
it and now ye've lost it," Pearl answered calmly.
"Go up to your room and think about it," she said, avoiding
Pearl's gaze.
Pearl went up the narrow little steps with a heart that
swelled with indignation.
"Does she think I stole her dirty money, me that has
money o' me own--a thief is it she takes me for? Oh,
wirra! wirra! and her an' me wuz gittin' on so fine, too;
and like as not this'll start the morgage and the cancer
on her again."
Pearl threw herself on the hot little bed, and sobbed
out her indignation and her homesickness. She could not
put it off this time. Catching sight of her grief-stricken
face in the cracked looking glass that hung at the head
of the bed, she started up suddenly.
"What am I bleatin' for?" she said to herself, wiping
her eyes on her little patched apron. "Ye'd think to
look at me that I'd been caught stealin' the cat's
milk"--she laughed through her tears--"I haven't stolen
anything and what for need I cry? The dear Lord will get
me out of this just as nate as He bruk the windy for me!"
She took her knitting out of the bird-cage and began to
knit at full speed.
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