Then, as the gig moved off, she waved her hand, and continued to do so till it was out of sight. After that, she found it impossible to keep her composure any longer, and burst into a flood of tears. Her aunt and Jane were both very kind and sympathetic, but she begged them to let her be by herself. And, running into the house, she sought refuge in her own room, where she sobbed out her grief undisturbed for some time. By-and-by, however, Jane arrived, duster in hand. And Mavis, who had now passed the first keen pangs of sorrow, bathed her tear-stained face, and inquired where she would find her aunt.
"She's downstairs, miss; you'll find her either in the kitchen or the back garden. Monday's always a busy day with us, for it's washing-day. A woman from the village, Mrs. Long, comes to wash. She's worked for Mrs. John for years."
"You mean Aunt Lizzie when you speak of Mrs. John, don't you, Jane?"
"Yes; most folks call her Mrs. John, for master's mother was living when he married. Your mother is Mrs. Grey now, you know, for your father was the elder son. He might have had the mill, if he had liked, but he preferred to be a clergyman. I knew both your father and your uncle when they were boys. I lived here as servant when they were growing up, so you see I've been with the family a great many years."
Mavis went downstairs and found her way to the kitchen, beyond which was a big scullery, and outside that a wash-house, where a stout, rosy-cheeked woman was hard at work at a wash-tub, up to elbows in soapsuds, and enveloped in a cloud of steam.
"Good morning, missie," she said to Mavis, smiling at her good-temperedly, and with sympathy in her glance; for she knew the little girl's mother had left that morning, and guessed that was the cause of her sorrowful face.
"Good morning," Mavis replied, returning her smile.
She went out into the kitchen-garden, where she found her aunt hanging various garments on the clothes lines, which extended the whole length of the garden.
"Do let me help you, Aunt Lizzie," she said. "Isn't there something I can do?"
"You might spread these handkerchiefs on the hedge to bleach, they're Bob's. See what a dreadful colour they are, and no wonder, for I caught him dusting his boots with one of them and cleaning his slate with another! Boys make no end of work."