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"You're right, Mr Twitter. I always said so," remarked Mrs Loper, adopting all these sentiments with a sigh of resignation. "If we did not submit to fortune when it is adverse, why then we'd have to have to " "Succumb to it," suggested Mrs Larrabel, with one of her sweetest smiles. "No, Mrs Larrabel, I never succumb from principle I never do so.
You know why I have sent for you?" "Yes, Mrs Twitter. It it is very kind. Our Bible-nurse told me, and I shall be so happy to come, because but I fear I have interrupted you. I I can easily come back " "No interruption at all, my dear. Here, take this cup of tea " "And a crumpet," added Mrs Larrabel, who sympathised with the spirit of hospitality.
"What do you mean, girl?" "Her name is not Mita, it is Matty," returned Hetty, with a flatness of contradiction that seemed impossible in one so naturally gentle. Mrs Twitter stood, aghast bereft of the power of speech or motion. Mrs Loper and Mrs Larrabel were similarly affected. They soon recovered, however, and exclaimed in chorus, "What can she mean?"
It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that a full explanation ensued when the party became calmer; that Mrs Twitter could not doubt the veracity of Hetty Frog, but suspected her sanity; that Mrs Frog was sent for, and was recognised at once by Mr Twitter as the poor woman who had asked him such wild and unmeaning questions the night on which he had found the baby; and that Mr and Mrs Twitter, Mrs Loper, Mrs Larrabel, and Crackaby came to the unanimous conclusion that they had never heard of such a thing before in the whole course of their united lives which lives, when united, as some statisticians would take a pride in recording, formed two hundred and forty-three years!
There could be no doubt upon that point, for the very rafters of the house were ringing at the moment with the yells which issued from an adjoining room. "Come this way, Hetty." Mrs Loper and Mrs Larrabel, having formed a good opinion of the girl, looked on with approving smiles.
Mr Stickler," suddenly interrupted a stout, smiling lady, named Larrabel, who usually did the audience part of Mrs Twitter's little tea parties, "how can you suggest such ideas, especially when Mr Twitter is unusually late?" Mr Stickler protested that he had no intention of alarming the company by disagreeable suggestions, that he had spoken of accident, robbery, and murder in the abstract.
As for Loper, Larrabel, Crackaby, Stickler, and Company feeling that it would be improper to remain after the host and hostess were gone; that it would be equally wrong to offer to go with them, and quite inappropriate to witness the home-coming, they took themselves off, but each resolved to flutter unseen in the neighbourhood until he, or she, could make quite sure that the prodigal had returned.
Most people dislike to have their miracles unmasked. Mrs Larrabel turned from the black sheep to her hostess without replying, and repeated her suggestion about making inquiries at Scotland Yard thus delicately showing that although, possibly, convinced, she was by no means converted. They were interrupted at this point by a hurried knock at the street door.
At the Twitter social board which, by the way, was spread in another house not far from that which had been burned sat not only Mr and Mrs Twitter and all the little Twitters, but also Mrs Loper, who had dropped in just to make inquiries, and Mrs Larrabel, who was anxious to hear what news they had to tell, and Mr Crackaby, who was very sympathetic, and Mr Stickler, who was oracular.
"Forgive me, ma'am," said Hetty, still holding on to baby, who seemed to have an idea that she was creating a sensation of some sort, without requiring to yell, "forgive my rudeness, ma'am, but I really couldn't help it, for this is my long-lost sister Matilda." "Sister Matilda!" echoed Mrs Loper. "Long-lost sister Matilda!" repeated Mrs Larrabel.
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