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Updated: May 11, 2025
She could not stay in that house another second until she knew. Surely there must be some one on the place who could tell her what had happened. Approaching the gardener's house, she met Phoebe just coming out of the door. "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the woman of color. "Is that you, Miss Dora? Mike hollered to me that a kirridge had come, and I was a-hurryin' up to the house to see who it was."
"Gig, indeed!" ejaculated Molly. "No kirridge, but an auld gig! There's not much quality about thim two. I wouldn't be here working for the likes o' thim, if it was not for me wish to oblige Miss Panney, poor old woman as she's gittin' to be."
"Hi, Phoebe!" cried Molly, who was engaged in washing dishes, "how did you git here at this time o' night?" "I'd have you know," said the visitor, with lofty dignity, "that my name is Mrs. Robinson, and if you want to know how I got here, I came in a kerridge." "I didn't hear no kirridge drive up," said Molly. "Humph!" said Mrs.
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