“The school? You will really make the attempt?”
“It will be so good for us both. Why, look,” she added laughingly, “here is one pupil growing for us!”
“Make a brave woman of her,” said Rhoda kindly.
“We will try—ah, we will try! And is your work as successful as ever?”
“More!” replied Rhoda. “We flourish like the green bay-tree. We shall have to take larger premises. By-the-bye, you must read the paper we are going to publish; the first number will be out in a month, though the name isn’t quite decided upon yet. Miss Barfoot was never in such health and spirit—nor I myself. The world is moving!”
Whilst Miss Madden went into the house to prepare hospitalities, Rhoda, still nursing, sat down on a garden bench. She gazed intently at those diminutive features, which were quite placid and relaxing in soft drowsiness. The dark, bright eye was Monica’s. And as the baby sank into sleep, Rhoda’s vision grew dim; a sigh made her lips quiver, and once more she murmured, “Poor little child!”