The rooms Mary had taken for my mother and herself were not actually near the part that had been her girlhood's home; not down in Bristol, but higher up in Redland. Mary had feared the narrow streets and noise of Bristol for my mother. Still she had found out all her old friends, and had had lots of kindness from them, as well as getting plenty of work.
She told me this as we toiled up one of the steep hills out of Bristol, with houses on both sides, and houses around everywhere.
"I shouldn't like to live down there," I said.
"No; it isn't as if you'd been used to the place always," Mary answered.
Then I asked, "Will mother be pleased to see me?"
"I can't tell yet, but I hope so, Kitty. She seemed glad this morning, when I told her you were coming."
"She hasn't ever written to me," I said.
"No; she has written to nobody. She doesn't seem able. But she keeps the rooms nice, so as to leave me free for work; and sometimes she works too."
"I'm sure I can never thank you enough for staying with her all this time," I said. "I couldn't have thought you'd have been able."
"Things are changed," Mary said.