"There would be no real disgrace in it, my darling. No work in itself brings disgrace; be it carrying out parcels or sweeping out a shop. So long as we retain our refinement of tone, of manner, our courteous conduct one to the other, we shall still be gentlepeople, let us work at what we may. William, I think it is your duty to help in our need."
"Yes, I see, mamma," he answered. "I will try and do it; anything that may turn up."
Jane had not much faith in things "turning up." She believed that they must be sought for. That same evening she went into Mr. Lynn's, with the view to asking his counsel. There she found Anna in trouble. The cause was as follows.
Patience, leaving Anna alone at her lessons, had gone into the kitchen to give some directions to Grace. Anna seized the opportunity to take a little recreation: not that it was greatly needed, for—spoilt child that she was!—she had merely looked at her books with vacant eyes, not having in reality learned a single word. First of all, off went her cap. Next, she drew from her pocket a small mirror, about the size of a five-shilling piece. Propping this against her books on the table before her, so that the rays of the lamp might fall upon it, she proceeded to admire herself, and twist her flowing hair round her pretty fingers to make a shower of ringlets. Sad vanity for a little born Quakeress! But it must be owned that never did mirror, small or large, give back a more lovely image than that child's. She had just arranged her curls, and was contemplating their effect to her entire satisfaction, when back came Patience sooner than she was expected, and caught the young lady at her impromptu toilette. What with the curls and what with the mirror, Anna did not know which to hurry away first.
"Thee naughty child! Thee naughty, naughty child! What is to become of thee? Where did thee get this?"
Anna burst into tears. In her perplexity she said she had "found" the mirror.
"That thee did not," said Patience calmly. "I ask thee where thee got it from?"
Of a remarkably pliant nature, wavering and timid, Anna never withstood long the persistent questioning of Patience. Amid many tears the truth came out. Lucy Dixon had brought it to school in her workbox. It was a doll's mirror, and she, Anna, had given her sixpence for it.
"The sixpence that thy father bestowed upon thee yesterday for being a good girl," retorted Patience. "I told him thee would likely not make a profitable use of it. Come up to bed with thee! I will talk to thee after thee are in it."
Of all things, Anna disliked to be sent to bed before her time. She sobbed, expostulated, and promised all sorts of amendment for the future. Patience, firm and quiet, would have carried her point, but for the entrance of Samuel Lynn. The fault was related to him by Patience, and the mirror exhibited. Anna clung around him in a storm of sobs.