After thinking these and many other thoughts, I had brushed my hair, bathed my eyes, and was preparing to go downstairs, when there came a tap at my door, and Gwen, carrying little David in her arms, came in. She placed the child on the floor, came to my side, and looked hard into my face. If ever there was a purpose written in any woman’s countenance it was in Gwen’s at this moment.
“Gwladys, my maid,” she said, “will you help your old nurse at a pinch?”
“Yes, that I will, Gwen,” I replied, heartily; “what is it you want me to do?”
“And you’ll keep it a secret, and never let it out to mortal?”
“Of course,” rather proudly.
“Well, then, ’twasn’t the fever brought me over here.”
“Oh! Gwen,” in a tone of some alarm, “what are you keeping back from me? is David ill?”
“Dear, dear, no, my pet; and I don’t say as there isn’t a fever, and that that is not the reason the Squire sent us away, Gwladys. No, I’d scorn to tell a lie, and there is a fever, though it ain’t much; but that wasn’t what brought me and the little lad here, Gwladys.”
“How mysterious you are,” I said, laughing. “What was the reason?”
“Why, you see, my maid, I’d soon have persuaded the Squire to let us stay, for I knew he’d be lonesome without me and the baby, and, Lord bless you, he (pointing to the child) wouldn’t take the fever, God bless him; sweet and sound would I keep him, and free from all that low dirt, and those bad smells, which the negligent, never-me-care, unthrifty poor have, a tempting of Providence. No, it wasn’t fright at no fever took me away, but a downright answer to prayer, Gwladys.” Gwen paused, and I nodded to her to proceed. “Hadn’t I been praying all the winter for some lucky wind to blow me to this place, and wasn’t the fever the wind as God sent; so why shouldn’t I come with a thankful heart?”