“No; Irish stew needs fresh meat, and cold mutton is not appetizing; but I propose your having hot mutton each meal.”
“But that will make so much cooking, and I am alone to do it!”
“I know,” said Molly, gently, “but I am sure that sewing-machine is half killing you; can’t you give it up for an hour or two each day?”
“My dear, by the time I get through my housework it is near noon; then there’s the children’s dinner to get and clear, and I don’t get to sewing till after one. Then the afternoon and evening I have to give to it; if I could go and buy new material I need not have half the work, but it is the cutting down, making over, ripping, altering, and planning that wears one out.”
“Then I will help you,” said Molly. “I have time, and if you’ll promise to give one hour to the kitchen, I’ll sew an hour with you and cook an hour. I am so sure the change of work will brighten you up.”
“Heaven knows I need brightening! I feel a perfect hag, and I’m only twenty-eight.”
“Then you accept?”
“Yes,” hesitating; “yet I don’t know why I can allow you to”—
“Oh, don’t say one word! I love it.”
They had slackened pace in their earnest talk, but now they had reached the butcher’s.