In Mary Baxendell I had a tender, sympathetic girl friend; in the three bright children, plenty of objects of interest; in Mrs. Barr, mother and sister combined; in Dot, a precious baby.
It was almost immediately after I went to Hillstowe that Dot announced her intention of being "Miss Anstey's baby," and took every opportunity of stealing away from nursery to schoolroom, and nestling in my arms. Many a lesson I gave with the little head resting on my breast, as the child, weary with play, slept peacefully.
The second little cot in Mrs. Barr's room was vacant within a week after my arrival at Hillstowe for, hearing the baby begin to cry, and Dot—roused suddenly—take up the chorus, I stole into the too-populous chamber before the mother could get upstairs, and carried off Dorothy to my own.
"Dot will stop here," said the sobbing mite. "Dot will be Miss Anstey's night baby, too." And such she was during my stay at the vicarage.
I explained to Mrs. Barr that I had been acting the child-stealer, and pleaded for Dot's nightly company.
"Let me have her. She will so comfort me, for you know, dear Mrs. Barr, I have lost all who used to love me."
She saw I meant this, though at first she thought I only wanted to leave her hands a little freer and was taking Dot away for her sake. It was for hers and my own too, and when she consented, and I lay down with the sleeping darling on my breast, I felt, oh! So rich and so thankful, though my purse held but that solitary half-crown.
In spite of past troubles, I was very happy at the vicarage. There were few visitors, but I had the benefit of whatever society there was, and it was always of an enjoyable kind. As the days grew long, the children and I had delightful rambles up the hill-sides to the wide Yorkshire moors. We found warm welcome and hospitality on holiday afternoons at farmhouses, or the dwellings of small cloth manufacturers who still employed hand-loom weavers, though there were larger mills in the valley, turned by water-power. The parsonage children and their governess had a general invitation, and we never seemed too many guests, or our visits too frequent, for our large-hearted, homely neighbours.
My heart glows again as I think of them after thirty intervening years, and picture the faces that brightened at the sight of my little troop and me. How I felt their kindness, while I knew that it was poured on a young stranger's head, not from any merit in herself, but out of love and gratitude to the good vicar and his wife under whose roof I dwelt!
I spent Easter at Hillstowe, for the absent boys had a holiday invitation and did not come home, so my room was not needed. As may be supposed, I had some money anxieties. That half-crown could not remain perpetually unbroken, and there were collections at the church. At two months' end, I had not spent a farthing on myself, but I had only twopence left.