“Oh, no. They was only a-sayin’, as they was talkin’ about ways and means, that if you couldn’t take care of ’em we—that’s Mr. Dodd and me—would take ’em off your hands.”
“I’ve no doubt that you meant kindly; but I intend to teach them to take care of themselves, and there is no care equal to that. The parish of Barnley has been very kind; but I assure you, sir, there is no happiness like being independent, and that, with God’s help, I mean to teach my brother and sister to be.”
“Then you mean to say you refuse our offers of help, Miss Murchison?” said Mr. Dempster, bristling a little.
“Not at all. Indeed, I shall be glad of any assistance you can give me in the way of work. You know before my father’s health failed I used to make your wife’s dresses. I’m a little out of practice now, but I think I could soon get back the old deftness.”
“Why—yes—but Mrs. Dempster sends to C—— now for her work. She says she gets better styles, and takin’ all things into consideration, it don’t cost such a dreadful sight more.”
Margaret smiled involuntarily. She knew how the Dempsters, from greatest to least, counted the cost of everything, and she knew the offer to take Elsie—dear, sunny-hearted Elsie—off her hands had not been so much a question of philanthropy as gain. Could she so have disposed her heart as to give Elsie away, the bare thought of the drudgery which would have been her portion as maid-of-all-work in that household would have been sufficient to deter her.
“Well, I must be goin’,” said Mr. Dempster as Margaret remained silent. “You know they’ve hired a new parson and he will be here this week,” he added from the doorway.
“So soon!” exclaimed Margaret with a start. “And—and—you will want the parsonage right away?”
“Well, there ain’t no particular hurry, I suppose; but the folks thought it best to give you a week’s notice to quit,” and having delivered this parting shot, Mr. Dempster said “good-day” hastily and walked out of the gate.
So soon! so soon! to leave the dear home that spoke so tenderly of those who had gone away! To leave the cozy corner where stood her mother’s armchair, as it had stood for years, often bringing its memories of the sweet face and gentle hands which had presided over the hearthstone so long ago. To leave the sacred room where stood her father’s desk, from which not a paper had been removed since the nerveless hand had dropped the pen in the midst of a sentence of his last sermon; the room where stood his well-filled book-cases and his shabby furniture, and go—where—oh, where? asked Margaret’s heart in utter anguish. She grew suddenly weak with the rush of memory and regret, and slipped down upon the floor in an abandon of grief.