Annie Kilburn

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

dressed in a dark, firm woollen stuff, which communicated its colour,

if not its material, to the matter-of-fact bonnet which she wore on her

plainly dressed hair. In one of her hands, which were cased in driving

gloves of somewhat insistent evidence, she carried a robust black silk

sun-umbrella, and the effect of her dress otherwise might be summarised in

the statement that where other women would have worn lace, she seemed to

wear leather. She had not only leather gloves, and a broad leather belt at

her waist, but a leather collar; her watch was secured by a leather cord,

passing round her neck, and the stubby tassel of her umbrella stick was

leather: she might be said to be in harness. She had a large, handsome

face, no longer fresh, but with an effect of exemplary cleanness, and a

pair of large grey eyes that suggested the notion of being newly washed,

and that now looked at Annie with the assumption of fully understanding

her.