"Yes, that's it," said Josie. "That is to be your own home now. And all you've got to do is to open and shut the gate, Mrs. Carter, when a carriage passes through. But mother will tell you all that by and by. Come now,—come in and see how you like the rooms."
Following the eager child, Ailie and her mother found themselves in a neat kitchen, furnished with a strong deal table, two wooden chairs, and a small dresser which bore an ample supply of blue china and other requisites. Nothing would satisfy Josie but that they must at once climb the ladder staircase, into the upper room, and there admire the tidy bed, the chintz curtains, the painted wooden chest of drawers, and the washhand-stand, with its jug and basin. She chattered fast enough herself to make up for their bewildered silence, and as soon as she had done displaying the bedroom, she brought them down again.
"I think I have shown you all now, Mrs. Carter."
Poor Mary could do nothing but curtsey in her wordless gratitude.
"And mother has put some tea in this little box, and there's the teapot up there, and Vi and I brought some milk and bread and butter ourselves this afternoon, didn't we, Vi? So you can have your tea as soon as you like. Shall I tell mother you are pleased?"
Assurances on this point were so unnecessary, while in full view of those two faces, that Josie did not wait for them, and went springing away along the gravel pathway, the long ribbon ends of her hat floating out in the breeze. Lettie lingered behind, looking sedately at Ailie.
"It's just like a dream, so it be," said Mary Carter, slowly. "Such a place as this! Why, I don't know if I'm in my senses to think it's for us."
"It's just beautiful!" said Ailie, with one long breath.
"An' I haven't said a word o' thanks," said Mary. "I couldn't. Seemed as if none 'ud come. But Miss Vi 'll tell the lady,—won't ye, Miss? I can't say all I ought."
"I'll tell mamma you're glad," said Lettie, adding thoughtfully,—"Ailie, don't you wish ever so much that old gran'father was here?"