"I should like to go to the cottage, if it is near," said Mrs Herbert; "or, at least, I should be glad to see the girl; for I suppose her mother had better not be disturbed."
"It will be very easy, if you desire it," replied Mrs Saville; "for the children are kept in a separate room. I should wish you to see the woman herself, if she were equal to the sight of a stranger, for I am sure you would be pleased with her contentment and resignation."
"May I go too?" asked Amy, when Mrs Saville left the room.
Mrs Herbert thought for a moment, and then replied, "You may, my dear, if you are willing to assist in helping these poor people; I mean by working for them, or doing anything else which may be in your power; but it never does any one good to go and see people who are suffering, merely from curiosity."
"I think, mamma," said Amy, "I should be very willing to do something for them, if you would tell me what it should be."
"We must see them before we are able to decide," replied Mrs Herbert; "but we shall soon know, for here is Mrs Saville ready for her walk."
The cottage was but a short distance from the parsonage, and on the road to Emmerton, and the carriage was ordered to meet them there, that Mrs Herbert might be spared any unnecessary fatigue. Cottage it could not well be called, for it was little more than a hovel, divided into two parts; but it was the only one vacant in the neighbourhood, and the poor woman had gladly availed herself of any shelter when she became so ill; and though Mrs Saville's kindness had made it assume a more comfortable appearance than it had done at first, it was still very destitute of furniture, and, to Amy's eyes, looked the picture of wretchedness. The eldest girl was attending to her mother, and the five younger ones playing before the door. At the appearance of the strangers, they all rushed into the house; but Mrs Saville was an old friend, and, at her order, Amy's former acquaintance, Susan Reynolds, was called in. At first, Amy thought she should scarcely have known her again,—she was looking so much neater than when she had seen her that evening at Emmerton; but she soon remembered her face, and the frightened manner which she still retained.
Mrs Herbert made many inquiries as to the state of the family,—who were their relations, what they intended to do, and whether any of them had ever been to school; and the girl showed by her answers that she had no idea of her mother's danger. When she got well, she said, they should all go home, and live with grandmother, and go to school. She had learned to read and write herself; but the little ones never had, only sometimes she had tried to teach them; but now her whole time was taken up in nursing, and it was all she could do to keep them out of mischief, and mend their clothes.
Amy looked with a wondering eye upon the poor girl, as she gave this account of herself, and thought how impossible it would be for her to do as much; and yet there seemed to be but a slight difference in their ages, and the advantages of health and strength were all on her side. Mrs Herbert also remarked Susan's sickly countenance, and asked some questions as to her general health, but she could get very little information. Susan's care was entirely given to others, and she thought but little of her own feelings. At times, she said, she was very tired, and she did not sleep well at night; but then the baby often cried, and she was anxious about her mother, and so it was very natural. Again Amy felt surprised as she remembered her comfortable bed, and her quiet sleep, and her mamma's watchfulness on the slightest appearance of illness.
"Does it not make you very unhappy," she asked, "to see your mother suffer so much?"