Lucy tried to hold him back, for she was afraid of this strange voice; but he gently pulled her forward, and on the other side of the bushes, close to the edge of the lake, they came to the door of a very small, miserable looking cottage. He opened the door by the latch and they went in. It was so dark in there, that at first they saw nothing; but presently they could distinguish in one corner an old woman lying in a little narrow bed.
"Dear heart!" she exclaimed, as they stood together by her bed; "why, it's the little lady and gentleman from the house."
"Are you not old Mary Jones?" said Walter.
"Yes, indeed, sure I am," she replied. "Sit down, poor little dears. I would help you to take off your wet clothes, but I cannot move with the rheumatics."
She talked very kindly to them, and told them which corner to sit down in, where the rain could not come through. She had nothing to give them, she said, till her daughter and her grandson came in from work.
The two children sat down, and forgot their own little troubles entirely, so much greater did poor Mary Jones's appear. How miserable it seemed to them, she must be lying there alone all day long, with no one to help her, in this dark, damp cottage. Walter said something to her which shewed he was thinking so.
"It is a poor place," she replied. "We have no kind landlord to take care of our cottages, as your good papa does. Ours seldom comes into the country."
"But how long have you been so ill?" said Walter. "I remember seeing you in church in your red cloak a few months ago."
"Yes, sure you did." said she. "But I am afraid I shall never go to church again. I have been ill and not able to get up this three months."
"Poor Mary Jones!" sighed little Lucy.