But Hilary was a clear headed girl, and she had the rare faculty of seeing things as they really were, undistorted by her own likings or dislikings—­in fact, without reference to herself at all.  She perceived plainly that Johanna ought not to do the housework, that Selina would not, and that she could not:  ergo, they must keep a servant.  Better, perhaps, a small servant, over whom they could have the same influence as over a child, than one older and more independent, who would irritate her mistresses at home, and chatter of them abroad.  Besides, they had promised Mrs. Hand to give her daughter a fair trial.  For a month, then, Elizabeth was bound to stay; afterward, time would show.  It was best not to meet troubles half way.

This explained, in Hilary’s cheerful voice, seemed greatly to reassure and comfort her sister.

“Yes, love, you are right; she must remain her month out, unless she does something very wrong.  Do you think that really was a lie she told?”

“About the cat?  I don’t quite know what to think.  Let us call her, and put the question once more.  Do you put it, Johanna.  I don’t think she could look at you and tell you a story.”

Other people, at sight of that sweet, grave face, its bloom faded, and hairs silvered long before their time, yet beautiful, with an almost childlike simplicity and childlike peace—­most other people would have been of Hilary’s opinion.

“Sit down; I’ll call her.  Dear me, Johanna, we shall have to set up a bell as well as a servant, unless we had managed to combine the two.”

But Hilary’s harmless little joke failed to make her sister smile; and the entrance of the girl seemed to excite positive apprehension.  How was it possible to make excuse to a servant for her mistress’s shortcomings? how scold for ill-doing this young girl, to whom, ere she had been a night in the house, so bad an example had been set?  Johanna half expected Elizabeth to take a leaf out of Selina’s book and begin abusing herself and Hilary.

No:  she stood very sheepish, very uncomfortable, but not in the least bold or sulky—­on the whole, looking rather penitent and humble.

Her mistress took courage.

“Elizabeth I want you to tell me the truth about that unfortunate breakage.  Don’t be afraid.  I had rather you broke every thing in the house than have told me what was not true.”

“It was true; it was the cat.”

“How could that be possible?  You were coming down stairs with the ewer in your hand.”

“Her got under my feet, and throwed me down, and so I tumbled, and smashed the thing agin the floor.”

The Misses Leaf glanced at each other.  This version of the momentous event was probable enough, and the girl’s eager, honest manner gave internal confirmatory evidence pretty strong.

“I am sure she is telling the truth.” said Hilary.  “And remember what her mother said about her word being always reliable.”