"I am glad you say that," she answered in a trembling voice.
They sat in silence for a few minutes; the pleasant country sounds only falling peacefully on their ears. Then the girl spoke again in slow and measured tones.
"I do so wish you would take me away with you," she said. "I would do everything you like, and work at any kind of work; and I should want nothing but food and clothes. My clothes do not cost much," she added, looking down on the coarse merino dress she was wearing. "Betsy buys my frocks for me, and she says they cost less than her own. If you could afford to let me live with you I would try not to be an expense to you."
"Then you would like to live with me?" asked Sidney with a smile.
"You are more like a father to me than he was," she replied wistfully. "Oh, yes! I should love to live with you. I love you."
"That is well," he said, "because your father has left you to my care—you and your money."
"Have I any money?" she inquired.
"A great deal," he replied; "you will be very rich."
"Oh!" she cried with a sigh, "I always thought we were poor. And Jesus Christ says, 'How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.'"
The tone, and the look, and the words were so like Margaret's that they startled him. This young girl might have been Margaret's daughter.