“You could recommend this deal, then, could
you—to your own friends?”
“To my own family,” asserted John Taylor,
looking at Harry Cresswell with sudden interest.
But Mr. Cresswell was staring at the end of his cigar.
Eleven
“Zora,” observed Miss Smith, “it’s
a great blessing not to need spectacles, isn’t
it?”
Zora thought that it was; but she was wondering just
what spectacles had to do with the complaint she had
brought to the office from Miss Taylor.
“I’m always losing my glasses and they
get dirty and—Oh, dear! now where is that
paper?”
Zora pointed silently to the complaint.
“No, not that—another paper.
It must be in my room. Don’t you want to
come up and help me look?”
They went up to the clean, bare room, with its white
iron bed, its cool, spotless shades and shining windows.
Zora walked about softly and looked, while Miss Smith
quietly searched on desk and bureau, paying no attention
to the girl. For the time being she was silent.
“I sometimes wish,” she began at length,
“I had a bright-eyed girl like you to help me
find and place things.”
Zora made no comment.
“Sometimes Bles helps me,” added Miss
Smith, guilefully.
Zora looked sharply at her. “Could I help?”
she asked, almost timidly.
“Why, I don’t know,”—the
answer was deliberate. “There are one or
two little things perhaps—”
Placing a hand gently upon Zora’s shoulder,
she pointed out a few odd tasks, and left the girl
busily doing them; then she returned to the office,
and threw Miss Taylor’s complaint into the waste-basket.
For a week or more Zora slipped in every day and performed
the little tasks that Miss Smith laid out: she
sorted papers, dusted the bureau, hung a curtain;
she did not do the things very well, and she broke
some china, but she worked earnestly and quickly,
and there was no thought of pay. Then, too, did
not Bles praise her with a happy smile, as together,
day after day, they stood and watched the black dirt
where the Silver Fleece lay planted? She dreamed
and sang over that dark field, and again and again
appealed to him: “S’pose it shouldn’t
come up after all?” And he would laugh and say
that of course it would come up.
One day, when Zora was helping Miss Smith in the bedroom,
she paused with her arms full of clothes fresh from
the laundry.
“Where shall I put these?”
Miss Smith looked around. “They might go
in there,” she said, pointing to a door.
Zora opened it. A tiny bedroom was disclosed,
with one broad window looking toward the swamp; white
curtains adorned it, and white hangings draped the
plain bureau and wash-stand and the little bed.
There was a study table, and a small bookshelf holding
a few books, all simple and clean. Zora paused
uncertainly, and surveyed the room.
