The rags
were not all in the further cellar, however; a gay patch-work quilt, or
at least one that had once been gay, but from which bits of black cotton
now oozed in every direction, seemed to have curled itself in a heap
against the one window. However, it moved soon after Dirk opened the
door, and showed itself to be more than a quilt. Inside was a young
girl, the quilt wrapped around her closely, drawn up about her face and
head, as if she would hide all but her eyes within, and try to get rid
of shivering.
"You home?" she said, her tones expressing surprise, but at the same
time indifference. "What is it for?"
"Because I wanted to come. Hasn't a fellow a right to come home if he
wants to?"
"Of course; and it's such a lovely home, and you are so fond of it, no
one need wonder at your coming in the middle of the day."
The sentence was sarcastic enough, but the tones were hardly so; they
expressed too much indifference even for sarcasm.
Dirk surveyed her thoughtfully; he seemed to have no answer ready. In
fact, his face wore almost a startled air, and really the thought which
presented itself for consideration was startling. Something about the
face of the girl, done up so grotesquely in her ragged quilt, suggested
the lady who had been his teacher at the Mission! Could one find a
sharper contrast than existed between these two? Yet Dirk, as he looked,
could not get away from it.
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