Had Christie known that he came to see her she would have been ill at ease; but Mrs. Wilkins had kept her own counsel, so when Mr. Power turned to Christie, saying:
“My friend here tells me you want something to do. Would you like to help a Quaker lady with her housework, just out of town?”
She answered readily: “Yes, sir, any thing that is honest.”
“Not as a servant, exactly, but companion and helper. Mrs. Sterling is a dear old lady, and the place a pleasant little nest. It is good to be there, and I think you’ll say so if you go.”
“It sounds pleasant. When shall I go?”
Mr. Power smiled at her alacrity, but the longing look in her eyes explained it, for he saw at a glance that her place was not here.
“I will write at once and let you know how matters are settled. Then you shall try it, and if it is not what you want, we will find you something else. There’s plenty to do, and nothing pleasanter than to put the right pair of hands to the right task. Good-by; come and see me if the spirit moves, and don’t let go of Mrs. Wilkins till you lay hold of a better friend, if you can find one.”
Then he shook hands cordially, and went walking out again into the wild March weather as if he liked it.
“Were you afraid of him?” asked Mrs. Wilkins.
“I forgot all about it: he looked so kind and friendly. But I shouldn’t like to have those piercing eyes of his fixed on me long if I had any secret on my conscience,” answered Christie.