Sally really did look alarmed.

“Why, Sally!” said Mr. Benson, smiling, “I was not much more than a baby when you came to take care of me.”

“Yes, you were, Master Thurstan; you were a fine bouncing lad of three year old and better.”

Then she remembered the change she had wrought in the “fine bouncing lad,” and her eyes filled with tears, which she was too proud to wipe away with her apron; for, as she sometimes said to herself, “she could not abide crying before folk.”

“Well, it’s no use talking, Sally,” said Miss Benson, too anxious to speak to be any longer repressed.  “We’ve promised to keep her, and we must do it; you’ll have none of the trouble, Sally, so don’t be afraid.”

“Well, I never! as if I minded trouble!  You might ha’ known me better nor that.  I’ve scoured master’s room twice over, just to make the boards look white, though the carpet is to cover them, and now you go and cast up about me minding my trouble.  If them’s the fashions you’ve learnt in Wales, I’m thankful I’ve never been there.”

Sally looked red, indignant, and really hurt.  Mr. Benson came in with his musical voice and soft words of healing.

“Faith knows you don’t care for trouble, Sally; she is only anxious about this poor young woman, who has no friends but ourselves.  We know there will be more trouble in consequence of her coming to stay with us; and I think, though we never spoke about it, that in making our plans we reckoned on your kind help, Sally, which has never failed us yet when we needed it.”

“You’ve twice the sense of your sister, Master Thurstan, that you have.  Boys always has.  It’s truth there will be more trouble, and I shall have my share on’t, I reckon.  I can face it if I’m told out and out, but I cannot abide the way some folk has of denying there’s trouble or pain to be met; just as if their saying there was none, would do away with it.  Some folk treats one like a babby, and I don’t like it.  I’m not meaning you, Master Thurstan.”

“No, Sally, you need not say that.  I know well enough who you mean when you say ‘some folk.’  However, I admit I was wrong in speaking as if you minded trouble, for there never was a creature minded it less.  But I want you to like Mrs. Denbigh,” said Miss Benson.

“I dare say I should, if you’d let me alone.  I did na like her sitting down in master’s chair.  Set her up, indeed, in an arm-chair wi’ cushions!  Wenches in my day were glad enough of stools.”

“She was tired to-night,” said Mr. Benson.  “We are all tired; so if you have done your work, Sally, come in to reading.”