his last remark I did not quite understand,
and I dare say that was a good thing, for if I had thought it was any
reflection on _mother_, I should have answered in a way which would not
have made Mrs. Partridge think any better of my temper.

As it was, I answered nothing. If I had spoken at all I should have
burst out crying, and that I was determined Mrs. Partridge should not
see me do. So when she was tired of scolding she went away, and Sarah,
who had made an excuse of fetching our breakfast to get out of the way,
came back again in a few minutes with the tray.

I was too angry and unhappy to eat, but Tom and Racey, though looking
somewhat soberer than usual, ate with a good appetite. Towards the end
of breakfast I found I had no handkerchief, and I jumped up and went to
the chest of drawers in the other room to fetch one. There a great
surprise met me. Pinned to the top handkerchief of the little pile was a
note addressed to me, "Miss Audrey Gower." I knew at once what it was.
It was from poor Pierson--her only way of saying good-bye. Though I was
nearly nine years old I could not read writing very well, and this
Pierson knew, for she had written it very large and plain. Poor thing,
it must have taken her a good while, and late at night, too, when she
had all her packing to do. I tore open the envelope. This was the
little letter. Oh, how pleased I was to see it!

"MY DEAR MISS AUDREY, AND MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS,--I am half
broken-hearted to go away like this and leave you with strangers,
but what can I do? My poor mother is dying, and begging for me to
come. I would promise to come back for a week or two any way, but
I am afraid Mrs. Partridge will make your uncle think it better
not. But I beg you, dear Miss Audrey, to try to write to me, and
tell me how you all are, and do not be afraid to say if you are
unhappy, for I would try to do something; and any way I could
write to your mamma.

"Your faithful nurse,
"ESTHER PIERSON."

I read it over two or three times. Then I took it into the nursery where
the boys were calling for me, and read it over again, word by word, to
Tom. He listened with his big eyes staring up at me.

"How nice of Pierson," he said at the end. "Audrey, won't you write and
tell her how _horrid_ Mrs. Partridge has been?"

"We must think about it," I said, solemnly.

"Would you know how to _dreck_" (he meant direct) "the letter?"
continued