The neighbours mistook her reserve for pride. She was, as we have said, a quiet woman, keeping herself to herself, and neither associating or suffering her children to associate with the people of the house. Even the district visitor, as she went to and fro on her labour of love, failed to gain admission.
Upon one occasion, Mrs. Reardon came to the door herself in answer to her gentle knock, and, holding it half-closed in her hand, respectfully declined to receive the offered tract.
"Thank you," said she, "but neither my husband nor myself have got any time for reading."
"On Sunday, perhaps," quietly suggested the visitor.
"On Sunday we are too tired. You had better take the book away, ma'am, if you please. It will save you the trouble of calling again."
"It is no trouble to me," said the lady, with a smile; "I like coming."
"But it is a trouble to me to open the door," replied Mrs. Reardon. "To poor people like us, time is money."
"Forgive me," said her visitor, gently; "I will not detain you any longer. You will allow me to leave the book; I shall not want it."
"Neither do we, thank you all the same," replied Mrs. Reardon. And wishing the lady "Good morning," she quietly shut the door, thereby shutting out one who would have been a kind friend in the hour of trial.
"Mother," said little Bessie, "I wish you had taken the lady's book; I wanted to look at the pictures."