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Updated: June 16, 2025
"I've come to get my bundle," said the girl. Mrs. Grubbling had advanced to the stair head, somewhat briskly, with the wakeful baby in her arms. Two days' "tending" had greatly mollified her sentiments toward the offending Glory. "And she's come to get her bundle," added the young usher, from below. Mrs. Grubbling retreated into her chamber, and shut herself and the baby in.
Grubbling actually felt a jealousy, as if her poor, untutored handmaid were taking precedence of herself. "What party?" she snapped. "At the Pembertons', mum. I thought you knew about it." "And what if I do? Maybe I'm going, myself." Glory opened her eyes wide in mingled consternation and surprise. "I didn't think you was, mum. But if you is "
"If you go away at all," continued Mrs. Grubbling, with what she deemed a finishing stroke of policy, "you go straight off. I'll have no dancing back and forth to offices from here." "Do you mean right off, this minute?" asked Glory, aghast. "Yes just that. Pack up and go, or else let me hear no more about it." The next thing in Glory's programme of duty was to lay the table for dinner.
All at once, she had him in her arms; and as if not a moment had gone by since she held him so in the little, dark, upper entry in Budd Street, where he had toddled to her in his nightgown, for her grieved farewell, was hugging and kissing him, with the old, forgetting and forgiving love. Mrs. Grubbling looked on in petrified amaze.
Her eyes filled, as she thought of the Grubbling baby with the love that always grows for that whereto one has sacrificed oneself. "You won't have any babies to tend. Time enough for that when you've learned plenty of other things. Who do you belong to?" "I don't belong to anybody, mum. Father, and mother, and grandmother is all dead. I've done the chores and tended baby up at Mrs.
"I'm sure I'm glad to see you, Glory," said Mrs. Grubbling patronizingly; "and I hope you've been doing well since you went away from me." As if she had been doing so especially well before, that there might easily be a doubt as to whether going farther had not been faring worse. I have no question that Mrs.
Grubbling had been thus far effectually heading Glory off, by standing square in the parlor doorway. "Or perhaps, I'd better stay at home and take care of him myself," she added, in a tone of superlative irony.
"It's the red-headed girl over at Grubbling's," she continues to herself. "Well, anyhow, she's an honest, kind-hearted crature, and I'll not forget it of her." Glory has made another friend. "Well, Glory McWhirk, this is very pretty doings indeed!" began Mrs. Grubbling, meeting the little handmaiden at the parlor door. "So this is the way, is it, when my back is turned for a minute?
Grubbling would have indignantly disputed, had it been calculated and set before her; she being one of those not uncommon persons who regard a duty continually evaded as one continually performed, it being necessarily just as much on their minds; till, at last, Herbert had a winter's illness, and in summer it wasn't worth while, and the winter after, baby came, so that of course she couldn't be spared at all; and it seemed little likely now that she ever again would be.
Grubbling, dimly foreshadowing to herself what it would be if Glory should break loose, and go. "To stay, mum, and you to keep me, till I'm growed up," answered Glory, briefly. "There's no binding about it," replied the mistress. "Of course I wouldn't be held to anything of that sort. I shan't keep you any longer than you behave yourself." "Then, if you please, mum, I think I'll go," said Glory.
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