"Mother was undressing of us then: she'd been a busy washing."
"Poor little darling! Well, Polly, you will be well soon; and you must take great care of candles after this."
Polly gave as emphatic a nod as the bolster allowed her; as much as to say she would never go within wide range of a candle again. Miss Castlemaine took Sister Phoeby's place, and the latter went away.
That the child was now at ease, appeared evident; for presently her eyelids, heavy with sleep, gradually closed. She had had no sleep all night. Mary Ursula took some work from her pocket. The Sisters were making garments for this child: all she had--and a poor "all" it was--had been from the floor by the terrified mother, and caught up rolled round her to put the fire out.
"How peaceful it seems here," said Ethel in a low tone. "I think I should like to come and be a Sister with you, Mary."
Miss Castlemaine smiled one of her sad smiles. "That would never do, Ethel."
"It is so useful a life."
"You will find usefulness in another sphere. It would not be right that you should bury yourself here."
"We all told you that, Mary, you know, at Greylands' Rest. But you have done it."
"My dear, the cases are essentially different. My hopes of happiness, my prospects in the world were over: yours, Ethel, are not even yet in the bud. When some good man shall woo and win you, you will find where your proper sphere of usefulness lies."