“Is it not? And I have got another one just like it in mauve, which has never been on my back, and which you must have, dear mamma. Those angel women in New York have given me that huge trunk full of beautiful clothing, and I shall never wear one-half of it out, but my greatest pleasure in it will be to divide it with you, my dear, darling, beautiful mamma.”
“Oh, Jennie!” was all the curate’s wife found to say to that, for she did not mean to take any of her daughter’s pretty clothes, if she could help it, nor did she want to vex the girl by refusing them just then.
“Where is papa?” inquired Jennie.
“Gone out to make some sick calls; he will be home by noon. But here I am chatting away and forgetting that you have had no breakfast. We breakfasted two hours ago!” laughed Mrs. Campbell as she put her hand out to the bell rope and rang.
Elspeth Longman came in, smiled and nodded.
“Good-morning, ma’am,” to Jennie, and then went to work to lay the cloth for her breakfast. It was soon spread upon the table—good coffee, rich cream, muffins, fresh butter, grilled ham and poached eggs.
Mrs. Campbell gave the baby to Elspeth and sat down to pour out the coffee for her prodigal daughter.
“Ah, mamma! You remember our old feeling, yours and mine, that a draught poured out by beloved hands has the power of life-giving to the spirit as well as to the body,” said Jennie as she received the cup from her mother.
“And the same may be said of work gifts, my dear. Your little Shetland veil that you knit for me years ago, always seemed full as it could hold of your dear love, and its touch on my face like your caress,” replied Mrs. Campbell.
While they sat at table Elspeth Longman stood at one of the windows with the baby in her arms, tapping on the panes to make the child look out on the blue sky and the evergreen trees.