Mrs. Brown threw herself back in her chair, and laughed until the tears ran down her face. When she recovered, it was to address Mrs. Gray.
"La, Mrs. Gray! can't you find it?" she said. "Why, I told you, third column, second page, 'The Church in a Mess.' You can't miss. I have put a pin in it."
Spite of this kind attention, Mrs. Gray had not found "The Church in a
Mess."
"Lawk, Mrs. Brown!" she said, impatiently, "where's the use of always raking up them sort of things! The badness of others don't make us good— does it? It's the taxes I think of, Mrs. Brown; it's the taxes! Now, Rachel, where are you going?"
"I am going to take home this work, mother."
Unable to find fault with this, Mrs. Gray muttered to herself. She was not ill-natured, but fault-finding was with her an inveterate habit.
"La! what a muff that girl of yours is, Mrs. Gray!" charitably observed Mrs. Brown, as Rachel left the room. For Mrs. Brown being Mrs. Gray's cousin, landlady, and neighbour, took the right to say everything she pleased.
"She ain't particlerly bright," confessed Mrs. Gray, poking the fire, "but you see, Mrs. Brown—"
Rachel closed the door, and heard no more. Whilst Mrs. Brown was talking, she had been tying up her parcel. She now put on her bonnet and cloak, and went out.
It is sweet, after the toil of a day, to breathe fresh air, London air even though it should be. It is sweet, after the long closeness of the work-room, to walk out and feel the sense of life and liberty. A new being seemed poured into Rachel as she went on.