"
Poor Connie never quite knew how it happened, but somehow she found
herself as wax in the strong hands of Mrs. Warren. Connie, it is true,
gave a frightened cry when she heard Agnes shut the hall door behind
her, and she felt positive that she had done exceedingly wrong. But Mrs.
Warren really seemed kind, although Connie could not but wish that she
was not quite so stout, and that her face was not of such an ugly brick
red.
She gave the girl a nice supper, and talked to her all the time about
the lovely life she would have there.
"Ef I takes to yer I'll maybe hadopt yer as my own daughter, my dear,"
she said. "You're a wery purty gel. And may I ax how old you are, my
love?"
Connie answered that she was fourteen, and Mrs. Warren remarked that she
was small for her age and looked younger. She showed the girl her own
smart clothing, and tried the effect of her bit of fur round Connie's
delicate throat.
"There," she said; "you can keep it. It's only rabbit; I can't afford no
dearer. But yer'll look real foine in it when we goes out for our
constooshionul to-morrow morning."
Connie was really touched and delighted with the present of the fur. She
got very sleepy, too, after supper--more sleepy than she had ever felt
in her life--and when Mrs. Warren suggested that her new little handmaid
should retire early to bed, the girl was only too glad to obey.
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