CHAPTER TENTH.
"When we see the flower seeds wafted,
From the nurturing mother tree,
Tell we can, wherever planted,
What the harvesting will be;
Never from the blasting thistle,
Was there gathered golden grain,
Thus the seal the child receiveth,
From its mother will remain."
—MRS. HALE.
For once Mrs. Gibson had the grace to feel a passing emotion of gratitude to this kind benefactor, and shame that she herself had been so ready with fault-finding instead of thanks.
As for Sally, she was completely overcome, and dropping into a chair, hid her face and cried heartily.
"Come, don't be a fool," her mother said at last; "there's too much to be done to waste time in crying, and besides you'll hurt your eyes."
Sally rose hastily, removed the traces of her tears, and began setting the table for their morning meal.
"How soon are you going?" her mother asked at its conclusion.
"Just as soon as I can get the things cleared away and the dishes washed; if you think you can spare me."
"Of course I can. I feel well enough this morning to help myself to anything I'm likely to want."
There was still half an hour to spare before breakfast when, after a round of five or six miles on their ponies, Philip and Elsie reached the Crags.