a stranger.  So, too, did good Mrs. Hayward, who, when he was at the worst, twice came to sit up all night with him after her day’s work; and though she was not as tender a nurse as Mrs. King, treated him like her own son, and moreover carried off to her own tub all the clothes she could find ready to be washed, and would not take so much as a mouthful of meat or drink in return, struggling, toil-worn body as she was.

The parish, as might have been foreseen, would afford nothing but the doctor to a chance-comer such as Paul.  If he needed more, he might come into the House, and be passed home to Upperscote.

But by the time this reply came, Mrs. King not only felt that it would be almost murder to send a person in such a state four miles on a November day, but she was caring so much for her patient, that it sounded almost as impossible as to send Alfred away.

Besides, she had remembered the cup of cold water, she had thought of the widow’s cruse of oil and barrel of meal, and she had called to mind, ’Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me;’ and thereupon she took heart, and made up her mind that it was right to tend the sick lad; and that even if she should bring trouble and want on herself and her children, it would be a Heaven-sent trial that would be good for them.

So she made up her resolution to a winter of toil, anxiety, and trouble, and to Lady Jane’s withdrawal of favour; and thinking her ungrateful, which, to say the truth, grieved her more than anything else, excepting of course her forebodings for Alfred.

Ellen was in great distress about my Lady’s displeasure.  Not that she dreamt of her mother’s giving up Paul on that account; but she was very fond of her little foster-sister, and of many of the maid-servants, and her visits to the Grange were the chief change and amusement she ever had.  So while Mrs. King was busy between the shop, her work, and Paul, Ellen sat by her brother, making the housekeeper’s winter dress, and imagining all sorts of dreadful things that might come of my Lady being angry with them, till Alfred grew quite out of patience.  ‘Well, suppose and suppose,’ he said, ’suppose it was not to happen at all!  Why, Mother’s doing right would be any good for nothing if she only did it to please my Lady.’

Certainly this was the very touchstone to shew whether the fear of man were the guide.  And Ellen was still more terrified that day, for when she went across to the farm for the evening’s supply of milk and butter, Mrs. Shepherd launched out into such a torrent of abuse against her and her mother, that she came home trembling from head to foot; and Mrs. King declared she should never go thither again.  They would send to Mrs. Price’s for the little bit of fresh butter that was real nourishment to Alfred:  the healthy ones would save by going without any.