There was a bed at that side of the room where the roof did not slope, but at this moment it was almost hidden by the great piles of linen arranged upon it. There was a small open stove, in which a coal fire smouldered, and over that part of the floor which was unencumbered by furniture a faded carpet was spread. There was not one beautiful thing in the room, Frederica thought, except a rose tree covered with buds and blossoms, that stood in the window opposite.
The windows were pleasant, but from them Eppie could only see the sky, they were so high above her. From the one on the high seat of which she sat, Frederica could see thousands and thousands of city roofs, with bits of open space here and there, and the river beyond. But it was not a fair sight under drizzling rain and a leaden sky, and so she turned her eyes into the room again. Order was gradually coming out of the confusion of the innumerable white garments by which the little old woman had been surrounded. One after another the great trays were carried and emptied, into the many drawers beneath the eaves; and then coming back to place her empty baskets in a recess made beneath the high window, Eppie saw Frederica.
“Preserve us a’ lassie! I had no mind o’ your being here. It is time for playing yourself now. Why should you be here at this hour?”
“I don’t care to play with children any more,” said Frederica gravely.
“Eh, sirs! You’ll be growing ower-womanly for the like of that, I suppose. Weel, weel! But you shouldna sit so quiet as to make me forget that you are here. I might be saying things that it wouldna be wise to say in your hearing. Are you no coming down out of that?”
“Yes, I am coming, Mrs Campbell. Don’t you ever get tired of this place? Is it not awfully dull?”
“Dull!” repeated Eppie, “and tired of it! Is it this chamber you mean? Where could I go if I tired of it? I am very thankful to bide in it, I can tell you.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But don’t you get tired of it all the same? What do you look forward to? There is nothing in your life but mending, and keeping count, and—”
“Hear the disrespectful lassie! Folding and keeping count, said she. That’s but for one day in the week. The mending whiles takes two or three, and there’s many a thing besides that I canna be speaking to the likes of you about.”
“Yes; but not pleasant things, Eppie.”