Mrs. Woodburn accepted the governess's notice, and tried nothing further.
"She must go her own way now," she said to Mat.
"It's the right way, Mar," replied the old man comfortably.
"I hope so," answered his wife.
"She can read, and she can write, and she can 'rithmetik,'" continued the other. "What more d'you want with this 'ere education?" He went out, shaking his head. "I sha'n't wep no tear," he said. "That I sha'n't, even if she don't get round them wriggle-regular French worms Mamsel talks of. Roast beef o' old England for me."
Mrs. Woodburn announced her decision to her daughter.
"Thank you, mother," said the girl quietly, and added: "It's no good—not for me."
Mrs. Woodburn eyed her daughter.
"You're a good maid, Boy," she said. "That's the main."
A month later the girl asked her mother if she might help with the lads' Bible Class.