At once, Mary flew upstairs to her room. In less than five minutes, she was down again, and merely nodding to her father as she passed through the shop, off she went, with the light, happy step of youth.
"It's natural," he thought again, "it's very natural," but he sighed.
Mrs. Gray took in high dudgeon the consent her daughter had given to the return of Mary Jones. She scarcely looked at that young lady the whole day, and when she was gone, and Jane had retired to her little room, and mother and daughter sat together, Rachel got a lecture.
"You have no spirit," indignantly said Mrs. Gray. "What! after the little hussy behaving so shamefully, you take her back for the asking!"
"She is but a child," gently observed Rachel.
"But her father ain't a child, is he?"
Rachel smiled.
"Indeed, mother, he is not much better," she replied.
"I tell you, that you ain't got a bit of spirit," angrily resumed Mrs. Gray. "The little imperent hussy! to think of playing her tricks here! And do you think I'm agoing to stand that?" added Mrs. Gray, warming with her subject; "no, that I ain't! See if I don't turn her out of doors to-morrow morning."
"Oh! mother, mother, do not!" cried Rachel, alarmed at the threat; "think that she is but a child, after all. And, oh, mother!" she added with a sigh, "have you never noticed how like she is to what our own little Jane once was?"