Miss Theodosia sat forward in her chair.

"What made Mother cry?" she asked. The child shifted her heavy burden
the better to turn her head. She regarded the beautiful white lady
gloomily.

"You," she stated briefly.

This time Miss Theodosia said it aloud and with a surprising ease, as if
of long custom--"Mercy gracious!"

"Oh, I didn't mean you're to blame; you can't help Aunt Sarah tumblin'
down the cellar stairs an' Mother not bein' able to do you up."

"Do me--up?"

"Yes'm--white-wash you. Mother was sure you'd let her, an' we were goin'
to send Carruthers to a deaf 'n' dumb school after you'd wore white
clo'es enough. He isn't dumb, but he's deaf. He can't hear Elly Precious
laugh--only yell. Mother heard that you always wore white dresses an'
she most hugged herself--she hugged us. She said you'd prob'ly find out
what a good white-washer she was an' let her white-wash you. But, now,
Aunt Sarah's went an' fell down cellar."

"Whitewash--whitewash?" queried Miss Theodosia.

"Yes'm, you didn't think Mother was a washwoman, did you? Of course she
could, but it doesn't pay's well. She only whitewashes--white clo'es,
you know, dresses an' shirtwaists. She says it's her talent that the
Lord's gave her, an' she's goin' to make it gain ten talents for