"I want you to promise me," said Victoria, "that you won't let brother play in that shed. And the very next time I come I'll bring you both the nicest thing I can think of."
"We'll promise, we'll promise!" she cried for both, and at this juncture Mrs. Fitch, who had run from the washtub to get into her Sunday waist, came out of the door.
"So you hain't forgot me!" she exclaimed. "I was almost afeard you'd forgot me."
"I've been away," said Victoria, gently taking the woman's hand and sitting down on the doorstep.
"Don't set there," said Mrs. Fitch; "come into the parlour. You'll dirty your dress--Mary!" This last in admonition.
"Let her stay where she is," said Victoria, putting her arm around the child. "The dress washes, and it's so nice outside."
"You rich folks certainly do have strange notions," declared Mrs. Fitch, fingering the flounce on Victoria's skirt, which formed the subject of conversation for the next few minutes.
"How are you getting on?" Victoria asked at length.