"Well, miss, what do you think of my mother?" Barker asked, at length.
"Oh, I like her so much!" the little girl replied promptly. "That is a dear little house she lives in."
"She was very glad to get it, Miss Marigold; and it's a great relief to my mind to know that she will have a comfortable home as long as she lives. It's a bit lonely for her sometimes, though!"
"I daresay it is. I hope you will take me to see her again, Barker; that is, if you think she will not mind. But perhaps she would rather you went alone?"
"Oh no, Miss Marigold! I could see she took quite a fancy to you, and I'm sure she will be always very glad whenever you care to go and see her, for she dearly loves to have visitors. Until lately she has been accustomed to lead a busy life, and not being able to read—"
"What! Can't she read?" Marigold cried, in accents of profound surprise.
"No, miss," Barker replied. "When she was a child, parents were not bound to send their children to school, like they are now. My grandfather was only a farm labourer, and as mother was the eldest of a long family, she went into service when she was barely fourteen, and before that she had to look after her little brothers and sisters, so you see she never went to school at all. As I was saying, not being able to read, I'm afraid the time sometimes hangs heavy on her hands."
"How sad not to be able to read the Bible!" Marigold said, lifting a pair of thoughtful dark eyes to her companion's face.
"I read her a chapter when I go home every other Sunday," Barker replied. "She says she thinks of it afterwards, and of what she hears in church too. She has a wonderful memory, and can repeat many of the psalms word for word, and a great many hymns."
Marigold found her aunts seated placidly in the drawing-room as usual, on her return. Both greeted her with brightening faces, and Miss Holcroft said—