Next morning the day broke clear after the long storm, and Annie woke in
revolt against the sort of subjection in which she had parted from Mr.
Peck. She felt the need of showing Mrs. Bolton that, although she had been
civil to him, she had no sympathy with his ideas; but she could not think
of any way to formulate her opposition, and all she could say in offence
was, "Does Mr. Peck usually forget his child when he starts home?"

"I don't know as he does," answered Mrs. Bolton simply. "He's rather of an
absent-minded man, and I suppose he's like other men when he gets talking."

"The child's clothes were disgracefully shabby!" said Annie, vexed that her
attack could come to no more than this.

"I presume," said Mrs. Bolton, "that if he kept more of his money for
himself, he could dress her better."

"Oh, that's the way with these philanthropists," said Annie, thinking of
Hollingsworth, in _The Blithedale Romance_, the only philanthropist
whom she had really ever known, "They are always ready to sacrifice the
happiness and comfort of any one to the general good."

Mrs. Bolton stood a moment, and then went out without replying; but she
looked as offended as Annie could have wished. About ten o'clock the bell
rang, and she came gloomily into the study, and announced that Mrs. Munger
was in the parlour.

Annie had already heard an authoritative rustling of skirts, and she was
instinctively prepared for the large, vigorous woman who turned upon her
from the picture she had been looking at on the wall, and came toward her
with the confident air of one sure they must be friends. Mrs. Munger was