Maria expressed astonishment when she heard Mousey had lent her Bible to John Monday, and said she hoped he would take care of it, and be more careful of Mousey's property than he was of his own.
The rain continued during the whole day, and towards evening the river could be distinctly heard as it rushed beneath the house. It was a dismal sound, and the little girl grew depressed as she sat listening to it. All sorts of imaginary horrors entered her mind and refused to be dispelled. Suppose the floor gave way, or worse still, suppose the river continued to rise and flooded the house? Then she remembered that Mr. Harding had told her the house was strongly built; but she still felt nervous, and was not sorry when bed-time came. In her own room there was no sound of the rushing river, and though the wind shook the window-pane, and the rain pattered against the glass, long before Mr. Harding had returned Mousey was in the land of dreams.
[CHAPTER VIII]
MOUSEY LEARNS SHE IS TO GO TO SCHOOL; AND MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
MR. HARDING supplied Mousey with a postage stamp for her letter; and in the course of a few days she had an answer from Aunt Eliza, enclosing sixpence—in stamps—from Uncle Dick. It was the first letter she had ever received, and she was so pleased that she showed it to each member of the household. Maria said she was sure Mrs. Dawson was a good woman, and she did not wonder her niece loved her so much. John Monday remarked that he wished he had an aunt to write a letter to him, and an uncle to send him a present, and wanted to know how Mousey was going to spend her money; whilst Mr. Harding appeared gratified at being offered the epistle to read, and expressed his approval of its contents.
"Your aunt is a sensible woman," he told the little girl; "she has written you some good advice, which I hope you mean to follow."
"Oh, yes," Mousey answered earnestly, "indeed I do."
"Shall I purchase your stamps from you?" he asked.
"Thank you, Cousin Robert. Will you please take four, and let me keep two? because I shall want to write to Aunt Eliza again."
"Very well," he agreed. "I've no objection to your writing letters now and then; but, remember, each letter costs a penny. If you mind your pence the shillings will take care of themselves."