'Maybe; but I'm gled to get it. I'm no' able for the mill, an' I canna sterve. It keeps body an' soul thegither—eh, Liz?'
'Nae mair,' said Liz abstractedly, again absorbed in her paper. 'But maybe oor shot 'll come.'
Gladys rose to her feet, suddenly conscious that she had made a very long visit. Her heart was heavier than when she came. More and more was the terrible realism of city life borne in upon her troubled soul.
'I'm afraid I must go away,' she said very quietly. 'I am very much obliged to you for being so kind to me. May I come again?'
'Oh, if ye like,' said Liz carelessly. 'But ye'll no' see Teen. She lives doon the street. My mither canna bide her, an' winna let her nose within the door, so we haud a jubilee when she's nailed.'
'Oh, please don't speak like that of your mother!'
Liz looked quite thunderstruck.
'What for no'? I've never gotten onything frae her a' my days but ill. I'll tell ye what—if I had ta'en her advice, I'd hae gane to the bad lang syne. Although she is my mither, I canna say black's white, so ye needna stare; an' if ye are no' pleased ye needna come back, I didna spier ye to come, onyway.'
'Oh no; pray forgive me if I have made a mistake. I am so sorry for it all, only I cannot understand it.'
'Be thankfu' if ye dinna, then,' replied Liz curtly. 'I'm no' very ceevil to ye. I am much obleeged to ye for comin', for the flooers, an' mair than a', for teachin' Wat to read.'