"An old life," she said, "is just like old cloth when it begins to tear. It'll soon go into the ragbag, and then to the mill that grinds all up, and brings us out new and white again!"
"Glory McWhirk," said she, on another day after, "if you could do just the thing you would like best to do, what would it be?"
"To-day, ma'am? or any time?" asked Glory, puzzled as to how much her mistress's question included.
"Ever. If you had a home to live in, say, and money to spend?"
Glory had to wait a moment before she could so grasp such an extraordinary hypothesis as to reply.
"Well?" said Miss Henderson, with slight impatience.
"If I had—I should like best to find some little children, without any fathers or mothers, as I was, and dress them up, as you did me, and curl their hair, and make a real good time for them, every day!"
"You would! Well, that's all. I was curious to know what you'd say. I guess those beans in the oven want more hot water."
The Rushleighs had come to Lakeside. Every day, nearly, saw Paul, or Margaret, or both, at Cross Corners.
Faith was often, also, at Lakeside.