Michael answered her very curtly. Since she could not satisfy his curiosity, he was not disposed to gratify hers. He went back into the shop, and busied himself with his books.
About noon the bell over his door tinkled, and looking up he saw with pleasure that little Margery was entering the shop, accompanied by a servant maid, who carried several small parcels.
"Good morning, Mr. Betts," she said, in her clear, high tones. "I've come to pay you the fourpence I owe you."
"Thank you, missy," he said, looking with interest at the sweet childish face and the blue eyes lifted so frankly to his.
"It's for the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' you know. I dare-say you thought I had quite forgotten it, but I hadn't; only nurse would not let me come before."
"It was no matter, miss. You need not have troubled about it. And do you like the book as much as you thought you would?"
"Oh yes; the pictures are lovely. But it is such a pity: we can't have any nice plays now; we're in dreadful trouble at home. My father is very ill, and Noel has been sent away to Aunt Susie's because he would make a noise, and I'm all alone, and I don't like it."
"Dear, dear! I'm very sorry to hear that," said Michael, feeling more moved than he could have believed it possible that he would have been by a matter which did not concern himself in the least; "but I hope your father is a little better this morning, my dear."
"I don't think so," said the little girl, with unshed tears in her eyes as she lifted them to his, "for mother was crying this morning, and she would not have cried if father had been better. We're quite in the Slough of Despond at home, aren't we, Jane?"
Jane smiled in response to the child's quaint words, but her eyes had a troubled expression. She shook her head as she met Michael's inquiring glance.