"
"'Bout printin' all them books he wrote over again, an' bringin' 'em
out in the same kind of covers?"
"Yes."
"How many was there, in all?"
"Twenty."
Myrtella compressed her lips, and with difficulty refrained from
comment. However freely the Doctor's will had been discussed in
public, no criticism of it was brooked in the presence of Miss Lady.
"As to your leaving," she said, changing the subject, while Myrtella
vented her wrath on the flies, "you know you have wanted to go for
months. It was only your goodness that made you come out here with us
after you had saved money enough to start your boarding-house. We
haven't been paying you enough, I know that, and--and we haven't
enough to go on even as we are."
Myrtella wheeled in the doorway, her face purple with anger:
"If you think I'm a-goin' an' leave you children in this big house,
messin' up yer own food, an' lettin' everybody run over you, you are
mighty mistaken! Miss Hattie 'd be having indigestion inside a week,
an' Bertie 'd git the croup, an' you'd have every female Queerington
that could buy a railroad ticket comin' an' settin' down on you!"
"But what can we do, Myrtella? I tell you the money is giving out!"
"Do? I'll tell you what we can do.
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