"Yes. Aunt Lizzie said I might enclose a letter with one she has written. I wonder how long this rainy weather will last, Rosie."
"Father thinks we shall have a change soon, for the wind is getting more northerly; it's been due west for weeks. If we get frost now the floods are out, we shall have fine skating; you will like that, Mavis?"
"I can't skate," Mavis answered. "I never tried."
"Oh, we will soon teach you. I am looking forward to a long spell of frost, like we had last winter."
"Are you? We thought that frost was dreadful in London, because it made things so hard for the poor—they don't feel the wet so much as long as it's mild, but when it's cold and frosty, the distress is terrible. Last winter, not far from where we lived, a poor old woman was found dead on a doorstep; I couldn't sleep for nights afterwards for thinking of her."
"How shocking!" exclaimed Rose, in an awe-struck voice. "Had she no home?"
"No. There are hundreds and hundreds of people in London without homes. Mother knew a great many poor people, and it used to make her so sad when she couldn't help them. Often they'd come and tell her their troubles, because, you see, being poor herself, she could understand better than if she had been rich," Mavis explained, with a wisdom beyond her years.
"Were you, then, very poor, Mavis?" Rose inquired, wonderingly.
"Yes," nodded Mavis; "but we always had enough to eat, though sometimes it was only bread-and-butter. Once we couldn't pay our rent, and mother was in great trouble about that, but Miss Tompkins was very kind, and said she would willingly wait for it. And then, mother had a good engagement to nurse a rich old gentleman for a few weeks, so Miss Tompkins hadn't to wait long."
"Why didn't your mother write to father for some money, Mavis?" asked Rose. "I am sure he would have been very pleased to send her some."