Ethel left her uncle’s house in tears, but before reaching her destination had wiped them away and assumed an air of determined cheerfulness. Mrs. Baker gave her a kindly reception, said she was glad to see her, hoped she would never find reason to regret having come, and bade her sit down by the stove and get well warmed before taking off her hat and sack, for it was a cold, blustering March day.
“We’ll not be likely to have much custom to-day,” she remarked presently; “it’s so raw and cold out that I should think folks that have no particular call to go abroad would be likely to stay at home. Perhaps it’s a good thing for us, as we’ll have time to look over the bits of needlework you were telling me of. You have brought them along, I suppose?”
“I put them in my trunk,” replied Ethel.
“And that’s come and been carried up to your room; and when you’re right warm you may bring them down, if you choose.”
Ethel presently availed herself of the permission, and Mrs. Baker and her mother, Mrs. Ray, both examined the work with interest. “I think they are very handsome indeed, and shouldn’t wonder if she’d find a customer for them—some of them, anyhow—directly,” remarked the old lady. “I never saw as pretty work done by one so young.”
“I quite agree with you, mother, and hope she’ll make a good deal on them,” returned Mrs. Baker, with a pleasant smile into Ethel’s face, now rosy with pleasure at their warm commendation of her work. “I advise you to keep on, Ethel, as you tell me you have been doing, using spare moments in adding to your stock, and I think you’ll find it paying you well one of these days,” she continued, addressing the young girl. “If you wish, I’ll buy a piece of muslin for you some day soon when I’m out purchasing goods for the store. I think maybe I can get a better bargain than you could, seeing you are so young and not used, as I am, to such business; then I’ll help you with the cutting out of the garments, so that they’ll be ready when you can find time to work on them.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” exclaimed Ethel, tears of gratitude springing to her eyes, “you are very kind to me.”
“Tut, child, I haven’t done anything yet to speak of,” laughed the kind-hearted woman. “But I want to do by you as I’d want anyone to do by my little Jenny, if she should ever be left fatherless and motherless, poor little soul!” glancing with moistened eyes at her four-year-old daughter, who was playing about the floor.
“Dear little thing!” Ethel said, holding out her hand to the child, who had paused in her play to look wonderingly from one to the other, “she reminds me of what my little sister Nan was when God took our father and mother to heaven.”
“My papa aint gone dere,” lisped the little one, gazing up into Ethel’s face; “he’s gone to de war to fight de rebs.”