’I am so glad you don’t like mills and manufactories, and all those kind of things,’ said Fanny, in a half-whisper, as she rose to accompany her mother, who was taking leave of Mrs. Hale with rustling dignity.

‘I think I should like to know all about them, if I were you,’ replied Margaret quietly.

‘Fanny!’ said her mother, as they drove away, ’we will he civil to these Hales:  but don’t form one of your hasty friendships with the daughter.  She will do you no good, I see.  The mother looks very ill, and seems a nice, quiet kind of person.’

‘I don’t want to form any friendship with Miss Hale, mamma,’ said Fanny, pouting.  ’I thought I was doing my duty by talking to her, and trying to amuse her.’

‘Well! at any rate John must he satisfied now.’

CHAPTER XIII

A SOFT BREEZE IN A SULTRY PLACE

’That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,
And anguish, all, are shadows vain,
That death itself shall not remain;

That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Thro’ dark ways underground be led;

Yet, if we will one Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way
Shall issue out in heavenly day;

And we, on divers shores now cast,
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
All in our Father’s house at last!’
R. C. Trench.

Margaret flew up stairs as soon as their visitors were gone, and put on her bonnet and shawl, to run and inquire how Bessy Higgins was, and sit with her as long as she could before dinner.  As she went along the crowded narrow streets, she felt how much of interest they had gained by the simple fact of her having learnt to care for a dweller in them.

Mary Higgins, the slatternly younger sister, had endeavoured as well as she could to tidy up the house for the expected visit.  There had been rough-stoning done in the middle of the floor, while the flags under the chairs and table and round the walls retained their dark unwashed appearance.  Although the day was hot, there burnt a large fire in the grate, making the whole place feel like an oven.  Margaret did not understand that the lavishness of coals was a sign of hospitable welcome to her on Mary’s part, and thought that perhaps the oppressive heat was necessary for Bessy.  Bessy herself lay on a squab, or short sofa, placed under the window.  She was very much more feeble than on the previous day, and tired with raising herself at every step to look out and see if it was Margaret coming.  And now that Margaret was there, and had taken a chair by her, Bessy lay back silent, and content to look at Margaret’s face, and touch her articles of dress, with a childish admiration of their fineness of texture.

’I never knew why folk in the Bible cared for soft raiment afore.  But it must be nice to go dressed as yo’ do.  It’s different fro’ common.  Most fine folk tire my eyes out wi’ their colours; but some how yours rest me.  Where did ye get this frock?’