Made in U. S. A.
A MODERN CINDERELLA
“You may stay down here until nineo’clock if you like,” said Bridget. “It’s awfulcold upstairs. Be sure to wrap yourself goodin the old blanket. And put a little coal onthe range. If you let my fire go out, I’llskin you alive.”
When Marilla first heard that threat sheshuddered all over. If you scratched alittle bit of skin off it hurt dreadfully. ButBridget never did it. Sometimes she hither a slap on the shoulder. She couldn’teven bear to skin a rabbit. “What do youmean by it?” Marilla gained courage to askonce, when she came to feel at home.
“Oh, I don’t know. My mother used tosay it. Sometimes she took a strap to us, butshe wasn’t ever real hard.”2
Marilla knew about the strap in BethanyHome though she didn’t often get it.
“I’ll remember about the fire.”
“Good night!” Bridget was off.
She always took two or three eveningsout in the week and had Sunday afternooninstead of Thursday because they had latedinners during the week. She was veryexcellent help, so Mrs. Borden let her haveher own way.
It was nice and warm in the kitchen; clean,too. Bridget couldn’t abide a dirty kitchen.Marilla had wiped the dishes, scoured outthe sink and set the chairs straight around.It was a basement kitchen with a dining roomabove. The front was the furnace cellar,the middle for vegetables and what Bridgetcalled truck.
Marilla sat in the little old rocking chairand put her feet on the oven hearth. It wasvery nice to rock to and fro and no babies totend nor Jack to bother with. She sang afew hymns she knew, she said over several,little poems she had learned and spelled afew words. Bridget had turned the gas low,and she couldn’t reach it without getting on3a chair or she could have read. So she toldherself a story that she had read.
It was very comfortable. She was gettinga bit sleepy. Suppose she took a teeny nap asshe did sometimes when she was waitingfor Bridget. So she shook up the old cushion,brought up the stool, sat on that and laidher head in the chair. And now she wasn’ta bit sleepy. She thought of the stove andput on some coal, lest she might fall asleep.
She hoped it would be warmer tomorrowwhen she took out the twins. Then she wouldventure to stop at the book store window andlook at the pictures on the magazine covers.There was a baby that looked so like the twinsit made her laugh. She didn’t think the twinspretty at all. They had round chubby facesand almost round eyes, and mouths thatlooked as if they were just ready to whistle,and brown fuzzy hair without a bit of curlin it. But they were good, “as good askittens,” their mother said. She did sowish she had a kitten. She had brought sucha pretty one from the store one day, a realmaltese with black whiskers, but Bridget4said she couldn’t have a cat forever roundunder her feet and made her take it back.
Jack was past five and very pretty, butbad as he could be. Bridget said he was a“holy terror,” but she thought holiness wasgoodness and didn’t see the connection. Hewas a terror, that any one could see.
There was a queer shady look in the co