“I ha' bin thinkin' o' Liz,” she said. “I thowt I'd ax yo'—if it wur to happen so as she'd drift back here agen while I wur away—as yo'd say a kind word to her, an' tell her about th' choild, an' how as I nivver thowt hard on her, an' as th' day nivver wur as I did na pity her fro' th' bottom o' my soul. I'm goin' toward th' south,” she said again after a while. “They say as th' south is as different fro' th' north as th' day is fro' the neet. I ha' money enow to help me on, an' when I stop I shall look fur work.”
Anice's face lighted up suddenly.
“To the south!” she said. “Why did I not think of that before? If you go toward the south, there is Ashley-Wold and grandmamma, Mrs. Galloway. I will write to her now, if you will let me,” rising to her feet.
“If yo'll gi' me th' letter, I'll tak' it an' thank yo',” said Joan. “If she could help me to work or th' loike, I should be glad enow.”
Anice's mother's mother had always been her safest resource in the past, and yet, curiously enough, she had not thought of turning toward her in this case until Joan's words had suggested such a course.
Joan took the letter and put it in the bosom of her dress.
“Theer's no more danger fur him?” she said. “Thwaite towd me he wur better.”
She spoke questioningly, and Anice answered her—
“Yes, he is out of danger. Joan, what am I to say to him?”
“To say to him!”