"Well, Mrs. White," said Rebecca, helping herself for the third time from the well-filled plate, "I think that you've always had a bit of a fancy for that Mrs. Miles, but she's not a person to my mind. Would you believe it now, when the subscription went round for the poor weavers,—and even I, hard up as I often am, could manage to drop a bit of silver into the plate,—Mrs. Miles was not ashamed to put in only a penny! And she with a house and shop of her own! I'm sure, if I'd been she, I'd a deal rather have given nothing at all!"
"What a mean creature Mrs. Miles must be," thought little Agnes to herself.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. White in her quiet tone, "you do not know that for the last year Mary Miles has been struggling hard to pay the debts brought on by her husband's long illness. She, no doubt, feels it her duty to be just before she is generous, and however willing to give much, knows that it would not be honest to do so."
"Oh, but think of the look of the thing!" exclaimed Rebecca; "who was to know of her debts? But Mrs. Miles,—she's an odd woman," continued the charwoman, lowering her voice, though not sufficiently so to prevent every word being heard by Agnes: "though people say she's so good, I take it she's not all that folk fancy her to be. You think it right to go to church regularly, don't you? I often see you there with your little girl."
"Mother always goes to church," exclaimed Agnes, "even if it is raining ever so hard!"
"That's right," said Rebecca, approvingly; "it always looks well when one is never missed from one's place in church. But I've noticed that Mrs. Miles has kept away these last two Sundays, and I know that she has not been ill, for I've seen her on week-days serving in the shop. Even if she don't care for religion, I wonder that she don't attend steadily, if but for the look of the thing."
"Mrs. Miles goes to church for something better than the look of the thing," said the widow, with a quiet smile; "I am so glad that you mentioned the subject to me, that I may be able to set you right. These last two Sunday mornings have been spent by Mary Miles in nursing poor sick Annie Norris, that her daughter may go to church; and then, in the evening, Mary herself attends a place of worship with her husband. I think it a privilege to go to the house of prayer, but I believe that Mary Miles is doing her Master's work just as truly while nursing a poor sick neighbour, reading the Bible to her, and giving up her Sunday rest that another may be able to enjoy it,—as if she attended every service in the church."
"Ah, well," exclaimed Rebecca, half impatiently, "you are always one to find excuses; you're ready enough to stand up for your friends! Another drop of tea, if you please," and she pushed her cup across the table. Then, turning towards little Agnes, she said, in a different tone, "You must come and pay me a visit some day, my dear,—I have something to show you worth the seeing. I've been subscribing for a long long while to the Illustrated Bible, and with some money which I got as a Christmas box, I've had the numbers bound together into such a beauty of a book. But I dare say that your mother has done the same,—she's one to honour the Bible, as all know. Whenever one sees a large handsome Bible in a parlour, to my mind it's a kind of sign of the respectability of the people in it. None of your nick-nacks, say I; give me a well-bound Bible, with shining edges and gilded cover!" and Rebecca, proud of owning such a volume, sipped her tea with an air of the utmost self-satisfaction.
"Mother," said little Agnes, "your Bible is very old,—it has not a bit of gilding upon it, Could we not buy a new one?"
"My old Bible is more precious to me," said Mrs. White, "than any new one could be. It belonged to my own dear mother."