It was a rare thing to see Jenny Lincoln in the kitchen at the poor-house, and now the fact that she was there, and wiping dishes too, circulated rapidly, bringing to the spot the sour-faced woman, the pleasant-looking woman, the girl with the crooked feet, and half a dozen others, each of whom commented upon the phenomenon after her own fashion.

“Do see the little thing,” said one; “handles the wiping rag just like any body!”

“And look there,” cried a second; “setting them up in the cupboard!  Did you ever!” While a third remarked that she wore silk stockings, wondering whether they were bought on purpose for her, or had been cut over from a pair of her mother’s.

Thus noticed and flattered Jenny worked away, assisting in scouring knives and washing spiders, until her dress was splashed with dishwater, and her white apron crocked by the kettles.

“Won’t your marm scold you for getting so dirty?’ asked the girl with the crooked feet.

“I s’pose so,” said Jenny, carelessly; “but then she scolds most all the time, so I don’t mind it!”

The dishes being done, and Miss Grundy making no objections, Mary accompanied Jenny up stairs, where the latter, opening her basket, held to view a neat-looking straw hat, far prettier than the one which Mrs. Campbell had presented.

“See,” said she, placing it upon Mary’s head; “this is for you.  I wanted to give you mine, but ’twasn’t big enough, so Rose let you have hers.  It’s real becoming, too.”

The tears which fell from Mary’s eyes were caused not less by Jenny’s kindness, than by the thought that the haughty Rose Lincoln had given her a bonnet!  She did not know of the sacrifice which the noble-hearted Jenny had made to obtain it, and it was well she did not, for it would have spoiled all the happiness she experienced in wearing it.

“Thank you, Jenny, and Rose too,” said she.  “I am so glad, for I love to go to church, and I surely would never have gone again and wore that other bonnet.”

“I wouldn’t either,” returned Jenny.  “I think it was ridiculous for Mrs. Campbell to give you such an old dud of a thing, and I know mother thinks so too, for she laughed hard for her, when I described it, though she said nothing except that ’beggars shouldn’t be choosers.’  I wonder what that means.  Do you know?”

Mary felt that she was beginning to know, but she did not care to enlighten Jenny, who soon sprang up, saying she must go home, or her mother would be sending Henry after her.  “And I don’t want him to come here,” said she, “for I know you don’t like him, and there don’t hardly any body, he’s so stuck up and kind of—­I don’t know what.”

In passing through the hall, the girls met Miss Grundy, who had just come from Patsy’s room.  As soon as she saw Mary, she said, “Clap on your bonnet quick, and run as fast as ever you can to Miss Thornfield’s.  Dr. Gilbert has gone there, and do you tell him to come here right away, for Patsy is dreadful sick, and has fits all the time.”