"Thomas might teach me, perhaps," said Mary Erskine, doubtfully. Then, in a moment she added again, in a desponding tone,—"but I don't know how long he will stay here."
"Then you don't know at all yet," said Mrs. Bell, after a short pause, "what you shall conclude to do."
"No," replied Mary Erskine, "not at all. I am going on, just as I am now, for some days, without perplexing myself at all about it. And I am not going to mourn and make myself miserable. I am going to make myself as contented and happy as I can, with my work and my children."
Here Mary Erskine suddenly laid her head down upon her arms again, on the little work-table before her, and burst into tears. After sobbing convulsively a few minutes she rose, hastily brushed the tears away with her handkerchief, and went toward the door. She then took the water pail, which stood upon a bench near the door, and said that she was going to get some water, at the spring, for tea, and that she would be back in a moment. She returned very soon, with a countenance entirely serene.
"I have been trying all day," said Mrs. Bell, "to think of something that I could do for you, to help you or to relieve you in some way or other; but I can not think of any thing at all that I can do."
"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "there is one thing that you could do for me, that would be a very great kindness, a very great kindness indeed."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"I am afraid that you will think it is too much for me to ask."
"No," said Mrs. Bell, "what is it?"
Mary Erskine hesitated a moment, and then said,