The bed-making—such as it was—being accomplished, Ailie brought out the tin basin, and filled it with fresh water from the old tin can, which had been wont to stand in the closet till displaced by her presence. With careful fingers she washed the two little blue plates, and the two little white mugs, in imitation of her mother's custom in earlier days, before misery and want had broken in upon such habits. Then arranging them and the teapot upon the mantel-shelf—not their usual place, but Ailie asked no questions, and Job would not interfere—she finally hid away the tin basin in a corner, rubbed her fingers clean, pushed back her hair, and went to Job.
Job gave her a little nod, with the words—"Thank'ee, deary," and continued his work. Ailie watched intently, feasting her eyes on the bright red cloth, and once in a way looking out of the window at the roofs opposite, and the blue sky over them.
"It's ever so much better up here than down below," she said at length.
"Down whereabouts?" asked Job.
"Down in the cellar," said Ailie.
"Ah, 'twas there ye lived, wasn't it?"
Ailie nodded.
"And you likes this best?"
Another nod, and after it came the abrupt question, "What be you goin' to do with me?"
Job looked up at the eager face, then worked on steadily. "Why, that's the very question I was askin' myself last night. What's to be done with ye, poor little 'un, till your mother's back? Two months, ain't it?"