“No, sir, ‘tis not the same—I knows that; but this is a bad place to live in—”
“Always the old song, missus!” exclaimed her husband. “Thank you kindly, sir—you have been a good friend to us, and so was Dr. May, when I was up to the hospital, through the thick of his own troubles. I believe you are in the right of it, sir, and thank you. The children shall be ready, and little Jack too, and I’ll find gossips, and let ‘em christened on Sunday.”
“I believe you will be glad of it,” said Richard; and he went on to speak of the elder children coming to school on Sunday, thus causing another whining from the wife about distance and bad weather, and no one else going that way. He said the little Halls were coming, but Mrs. Taylor begun saying she disliked their company for the children—granny let them get about so much, and they said bad words. The father again interfered. Perhaps Mr. Wilmot, who acted as chaplain at the hospital, had been talking to him, for he declared at once that they should come; and Richard suggested that he might see them home when he came from church; then, turning to the boy and girl, told them they would meet their sister Lucy, and asked them if they would not like that.
On the whole, the beginning was not inauspicious, though there might be a doubt whether old Mrs. Hall would keep all her promises. Ethel was so much diverted and pleased as to be convinced she would; Richard was a little doubtful as to her power over the wild girls. There could not be any doubt that John Taylor was in earnest, and had been worked upon just at the right moment; but there was danger that the impression would not last. “And his wife is such a horrible whining dawdle!” said Ethel—“there will be no good to be done if it depends on her.”
Richard made no answer, and Ethel presently felt remorseful for her harsh speech about a poor ignorant woman, overwhelmed with poverty, children, and weak health.
“I have been thinking a great deal about what you said last time we took this walk,” said Richard, after a considerable interval.
“Oh, have you!” cried Ethel eagerly; and the black peaty pond she was looking at seemed to sparkle with sunlight.
“Do you really mean it?” said Richard deliberately.
“Yes, to be sure;” she said, with some indignation.
“Because I think I see a way to make a beginning, but you must make up your mind to a great deal of trouble, and dirty walks, and you must really learn not to draggle your frock.”