"It is horrible to listen to stories
like that," she murmured under her breath. "Such stories get on the
nerves. I shall not sleep to-night. Fancy any people calling
themselves ladies wanting meat, wanting clothes, wanting warmth. Oh,
my God! this is horrible. Poor Prissie! Poor, brave Prissie!" Maggie
started from her chair and paced the length of her room once or twice.
"I must help these people," she said; "I must help this Aunt Raby and
those three little sisters. Penywern Cottage shall no longer be
without coal, and food, and warmth. How shall I do this? One thing is
quite evident-- Prissie must not know. Prissie is as proud as I am.
How shall I manage this?" She clasped her hands, her brow was
contracted with the fulness of her thought. After a long while she
left her room, and, going to the other end of the long corridor,
knocked at Nancy Banister's door. Nancy was within. It did not take
Maggie long to tell the tale which she had just heard from Priscilla's
lips. Prissie had told her simple story with force, but it lost
nothing in Maggie's hands. She had a fine command of language, and she
drew a picture of such pathos that Nancy's honest blue eyes filled
with tears.
"That dear little Prissie!" she exclaimed.
"I don't know that she is dear," said Maggie.
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