“But the old friends—the people papa has christened and married and comforted and instructed for twenty years! For he was there before you were married, mamma.”
“Yes, it was hard to leave them. But the knowledge that we must submit to the inevitable strengthened us even for that.”
“And how do you like the people here, mamma?”
“Very much, indeed. They are exceedingly kind.”
Elspeth having set the baby in its mother’s lap, and left the room to take a new supply of hot muffins from the oven, Jennie lowered her voice and inquired:
“And the one humble woman among the people with whom we are in daily intercourse, and on whom so much of our comfort must depend, mamma?”
“You mean our new servant?”
“Of course. Is she a worthy successor to Julia?”
“A most worthy one. Elspeth—the widow Longman—has not always been in service. She has had reverses and great sorrows—the loss of her husband while she was still a young woman with an infant boy, a boy whom she spoiled as only a widowed mother can spoil an only child. He grew up, so it is said, not really wicked or worthless, but idle, wilful, headstrong, and fond of pleasure and of roving. One day the poor mother lost her temper, under some great provocation, and told him he was the one grief and trial of her life, or words to that effect. He took his hat and walked out of the house. She thought he had only gone to the barn or to the village, and her burst of grief and anger being over, she prepared that evening an extra good supper for her boy, that they might make up their misunderstanding. But, though she waited long and anxiously, he did not come, nor has he ever come, nor has she ever heard one word of him since that day when he walked out of the house in sullen wrath.”
“Oh, how dreadful! how dreadful!” exclaimed Jennie.