"Doesn't it? It's fried liver and bacon. Do you think you can eat some?"
The invalid thought she could, and, posted up in bed, she drank her tea, which cheered and refreshed her greatly, and ate a little of the "fry." But her appetite was poor, and by far the larger half of Mrs. M'Cosh's present fell to the share of Felicia, who made an excellent supper.
"What a dear good soul Mrs. M'Cosh is," said the little girl gratefully; "and yet I used to be rather afraid of her—because she has such a blunt way of speaking, and such a sharp way of looking at one, I suppose."
"I have never had much to say to her," remarked Mrs. Renford, "for I have always had the impression that, for some reason, she does not approve of me. I remember once, soon after we came here, meeting her on the stairs, and her asking me why I did not go out charring; and when I told her I knew very little about housework, she cast such a scornful glance at me. I am sure," the poor woman continued plaintively, "I would gladly do charring if I could, for, though I've worked my best with my needle these two years past, it's been hard to earn enough for the necessaries of life, and only you and I know, Felicia, how short of food we've been sometimes. If you hadn't helped me out of school hours and proved yourself so clever with your needle, I don't know what we should have done. Oh, I hope I shall soon be better and able to work again!"
"I hope so, mother," Felicia replied. "If you are not better to-morrow we really must have a doctor—"
"No, no!" the invalid interrupted. "A doctor would want me to go into a hospital, or perhaps into the workhouse infirmary. I know he would, and then we should be separated! Oh, I couldn't bear that! We've never been parted, and—oh, may God forgive me if I've been a selfish mother!—I've always set my face against that! Maybe it won't be long we shall have together, anyway," she added in a lower tone.
"What do you mean, mother?" Felicia asked in a troubled voice, a look of apprehension creeping into her eyes. "You don't mean—oh, you cannot mean that you would give me up to my father's relations?"
"No, no! Never mind what I mean now. When I lost my husband I vowed I would never give you up; and though, often since, I've thought I perhaps acted unwisely and against your interests, I've never really regretted the stand I took. I'm a poor creature at best now, Felicia; but if only I'd not had that terrible illness two years ago, I should have been able to bring you up and educate you as a lady. Oh, it's very, very hard to think that God wills everything for the best."
"But He does, doesn't He, mother?"
"I try to think so, my dear, but I am afraid I am not a very brave woman. Still, in my heart of hearts, I realise that God does know what is best for us. 'Be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.' Yes, we must be of good courage."