She was always uncomfortable when she was with them and
her efforts to be at ease caused her shyness to go to the other extreme
and made her manners rough and impertinent.
Mrs. Smith found her crying one day when she came upon her suddenly in
the hammock on the Clarks' veranda.
"Can I help?" she asked softly, leaning over the small figure whose
every movement indicated protest.
"No, you can't," came back the fierce retort. "You're one of 'em. You
don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"How I feel. Nobody likes me. Miss Clark just told me to go out of her
room."
"Why were you in her room?"
"Why, shouldn't I go into her room? When I woke up this morning I made
up my mind I'd do my best to be nice all day long. They're so old I
don't know what to talk to 'em about, but I made up my mind I'd stick
around 'em even if I didn't know what to say. Right after breakfast they
always go upstairs--I think it's to be rid of me--and they don't come
down for an hour, and then they bring down their knitting and their
embroidery and they sit around all day long except when that Belgian
baby that lives at your house comes in--then they get up and try to play
with her."
Mrs. Smith smiled, remembering the efforts of the two old ladies to play
with "Ayleesabet." Mary noticed the smile.
"They do look fools, don't they?" she cried eagerly.
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