"Ain't that a nice dress!" said Miss Hobson, admiringly. "I shouldn't 'a known ye, Cherry. But why didn't young Mrs. Seymour get ye a black one for yer poor father?"
Cherry looked a little troubled, and Mrs. Seymour quickly interposed.
"She would ha' done, but I advised her not; it's better as it is. Cherry is as sorry for her poor father in this one as ever she would be in a black; and 'tain't as if Meg could get her another best one in a hurry."
"No," said Miss Hobson; "only some folks thinks a deal o' black."
"Very foolishly," answered Mrs. Seymour decidedly; "but that's not my Jem's Meg. She never even got a bit of new black for the little darling that's gone. She had one as she'd had at the Hall, and she says to me, 'Mother, you'll not think as I don't care because I don't spend Jem's money getting black things.'"
"Well, you needn't be hot over it," said Miss Hobson; "I didn't know the reason, of course."
Cherry came to her bedside, and spoke gently, though there were tears in her large sweet eyes.
"Miss Hobson, don't tell any one as I haven't a black frock—no one but you knows; and it don't make a bit of difference so long as I think as God sent it."
Miss Hobson stroked the little hand which lay on her sheet, and called out to Mrs. Seymour, who had turned away,
"Mrs. Seymour, I'm sorry as I was cross; and I wouldn't ha' said a word if I'd remembered in time."