Meantime, her younger Sister took Plain-work when she could get it; and the Benskins and Hugh Braidfoot supplied her with what they could, which she accepted gratefully; though, in her Father’s Life-time, it would have quite affronted Mistress Armytage that her Girls should set a Stitch for either of them. But Times were altered now; she was unable even to keep a Servant; and, one Day, when I looked in upon her, I noticed so many little Symptoms of Poverty, that, on repeating them to my Mother, she made me put up a Variety of little Presents for her, and take them to her with her old Neighbour’s Love.
When I reached her House, I found her on her Knees, scouring the Door-step with such Zeal and Noise, that I could not at first make her hear my Voice, or become sensible of my Presence. When she did, she did not appear particularly glad to see me, but pulled her Pail out of my Way, and said, “Oh!—You’ll find Kitty within—Kitty! Kitty!”
And just within the Door, sure enough, was Kitty standing with her Back to me, before Master Braidfoot, who was seated, with a fringed Glove in his Hand, and holding forth to her very earnestly. He had sent her a Box of Gloves to fringe, and I suppose she had not trimmed them to his Mind, for she was hanging her Head, and looking very uncomfortable. As soon as he saw me, he brought his Discourse to a Finish by saying, “Of which, more anon;” and nodding a Good-bye to me, stepped over Mistress Armytage’s Pail, and walked off. Mistress Armytage now came in, taking off her Apron in a great Bustle; and seemingly much more glad to see me than she had been just before. And she received my Mother’s Presents in mighty good Part, especially the Brandy-cherries, which had been put in quite as an After-thought, saying they would make a pretty little Dish for Supper. I thought she and Kitty had been more in the Way of Bread-and-Cheese Suppers now, but made no Comment. Some People would as soon die as not try to be thought genteel.
When I had nearly reached Home, I saw Mark coming along the Bridge, in a hesitating, reluctant Sort of Way. When he saw me, he stepped out more briskly, and came up, holding out his Hand.
“Cherry,” said he, lowering his Voice, “my old Lady and I had almost a Tiff this Morning, because she wanted you and my Uncle to come and eat some of the first green Peas of the Season with us, and I told her I did not think you would. But, will you?”
“Thank you kindly,” said I, “but my Mother is so ill, we have no Heart to go anywhere now.”
“I knew it was so,” said he, looking relieved; “but you will not think me unfeeling, I hope, for putting the Question?”
“Oh no, I think it very kind of you,” said I; “I take it as I know it was meant. Won’t you come in? We have seen nothing of you for a long Time.”
“Thank you, not just now,” said he; “good-bye.” And walked off as if he were in a great Hurry.