"No!" I said.
"The question isn't so much what we like, as what God likes for us," says she.
I got up, and gave her a kiss. "Yes, I'm trying to learn that, Mary, I am really."
"Then you'll be taught it, dear," said she. "God always gives us the teaching we need—if we are willing." And she added in a cheery sort of voice,— "But I don't mean you to work all day long, and never to have a breath of air. There's the Durdham Downs quite close—a great stretch of grass and open sky, ever so much wider than your common—and the river and the rocks and the trees."
"It isn't all houses, only houses, then?" I said.
"No, indeed," Mary answered. "You just wait till you've been over our Downs. Your mother says she never saw anything to equal them in all her life."
"I'm glad! I shan't mind work," I said, trying to be brave. "Shall I come with you to find mother? And am I to sleep with her?"
"Not at first, I think. I shall put you in my little room, and sleep with your mother myself for a few days. No, sit here, Kitty, and rest. I'll bring her to you."
Then Mary was gone; and I stayed alone in the strange room, with everything strange about me; for though we had furniture of our own, it had all been left at Claxton, till we could settle where to go and what to do. I was glad to think we should have our own furniture again some day, and not live among these dingy chairs and tables.
Mary didn't come back. I went to the window and looked out. It was very nearly dark outside by now. The terrace pavement was muddy, for there had been rain, and three boys were playing on it, shouting and pulling one another about.