"I thought God told us in the Bible we weren't to do it," said Greta a little shyly. "Becca is always saying it to me—'For none of us liveth to himself.'"
"Oh, well, if we gauged our life by the Bible, I suppose the world would be a different place," said Rufus, lightly. "Is that your motto, Greta? I fancy your training is leading you that way."
"No, I'm always wanting to please myself, but I do try to help Becca dust our room and wash up the things instead of playing with Toodles first. When I grow up I shall find it quite easy to live for others, shan't I? It's only when you want to play or have a run, instead of sitting still that it's so difficult; I s'pose all children can't help being naughty sometimes, but of course grown-up people never are."
Rufus flicked off some heads of dandelions with his cane without replying. The child continued with a quick change of thought, "I'm going just to tell God in church to-day about Peter. Do you think He will feel sorry?"
"I should think so," replied Rufus, absently, and having reached the church by this time, the conversation was at an end, but the young man was occupied with more serious thoughts than usual during the service.
It was not long after this, that Rufus was sent on a confidential mission to London by his chief. He departed suddenly, and thought it would only be an absence of a couple of days, but three weeks elapsed before he was able to return.
He looked out for his little friend on her way to school the next morning, but was astonished to see no sign of her. The house opposite seemed silent and deserted. As he sat down to dinner in the evening he asked his landlady if she had seen anything of her.
"Oh, sir! I was about to tell yer! The poor lady died awful sudden two days after you left. She allays had bin a sufferer, but they didn't think the end so near. And the nurse and child left a week arter the funeral. She allays were a proud stuck up creature was that nurse—and kep' it wonderful close where she was agoin' to, and what she was agoin' to do! Why, Mrs. Green, she says to me herself, that she had her head nearly snapped off, when she asked the most innercent question about the poor little lamb! And she's to be pitied the little dear with such a tartar a carryin' her off, and she not allowed to come across and even wish me good-bye! And I seed her little white sad face as they were druv off in a cab, and she rekernized me and blew me a kiss with a ghost of a smile. Bliss her little heart! We shall miss her trottin' across, sir, shan't us?"
"Was Mrs. Clay buried here?" asked Rufus, too bewildered at first to take it all in.
"Yes, sir, in the village churchyard. Our clergyman were backward and forward a good bit at the time. There didn't seem no friends nor relatives at the funeral—just a gentleman in black who looked very stern and 'aughty; but he left d'rectly arterward, and he might 'a' bin the lawyer, though I did hear she had nought to leave, poor lady, and it's my belief they was pressed for hunger at the time, from what Mrs. Green have told me!"