“But Biddy,” said Julia, “how could you leave your father and mother, and all your friends?”
“Sure it is, miss, if it thrives well with me they will all come after.”
“Sure enough,” said Mrs. Sackville, “these poor Irish do all come after, sooner or later. Are you a catholic, Biddy?”
“I come from the north of Ireland, my leddy.”
“You are a protestant, then?”
“Yes, my leddy; thank God and my mother, that taught me the rasonable truth.”
“Can you read, my good girl?”
“Indeed can I, my leddy. Thanks to the Sunday school, I could read in the bible if I had one, without a blunder.”
“Well, Biddy,” said Mrs. Sackville, who thought it a good opportunity to give a God-speed to the girl's pilgrimage—“here is a bible in my basket—take it, and may it be the guide of your life.”
Biddy poured forth her thanks in many a God-reward-ye, and then after hesitating for a moment, she said, “I wish my leddy would condescend to walk up here a bit, to a poor woman who needs a kind christian word, poor crater.” Mrs. Sackville and the children followed Biddy to a tree which stood a little above the encampment of the Irish, where a woman was sitting on a log with a sick child in her arms, and a boy of five or six beside her.