There was little writing done at the farm. I had really answered my own note, for I had sent an addressed envelope, and told them just to write the word Yes' on a slip of paper if they could take me in, and I had been obeyed to the very letter. There would not be a scrap of writing which would guide Mr. Marsden either to High Lea or Hillstowe Vicarage. To the latter, Mary Baxendell and I returned in company.
The girl was a sweet, sympathetic creature, to whom I spoke with much freedom on most subjects, but, it is needless to say, not on that nearest of all to my heart. I kept it to myself, and it was hard work, because human sympathy at such times is very precious. Only at mornings and nights, as I knelt in my quiet room, with no sound but Dot's gentle breathing to reach my ear, did I open my heart and pray, "Father, I do desire to be numbered amongst those that love and serve Thee. Do Thou make all things to work together for my good, and help me, at all cost to self, to do what is right."
We had trouble at the vicarage that autumn. Good Mr. Barr became seriously ill, and Mrs. Barr was almost worn out with anxiety and nursing. I did my utmost to relieve her, but there were so many things in which only a wife or an elder nurse could be of use. I grieved to see her so overwrought. I knew what a terrible difference this illness would make on the wrong side in the income, all too little for the brightest days. Friends were kind, and many helps came from generous hands, but more were needed. I was afraid Mrs. Barr would break down, and then what would become of the vicar and the children?
He began to mend at last, and then the patient wife's strength gave way to some extent. I well remember her making a great effort to get outside Mr. Barr's room door, and then sinking down in a faint on the landing. She had made it to save him the shock of seeing her fall. My heart ached for them all, and for the first time I grieved over my own poverty. Mrs. Barr said rest would put her all right again, but rest seemed as unattainable as many other things for the mother at Hillstowe Vicarage, though she took care that nothing should disturb her husband's quiet. "His life means the children's bread," she said. "It is of far more consequence than mine."
To us who looked on, and mourned that we could do no more or better, it was hard to tell which life was more precious to all concerned.
The vicar was gaining strength and talking of beginning his pastoral work again, though the doctor protested against it, and said Mr. Barr must go away for a time first.
The vicar's doctor was not the only medical man who orders the unattainable for his patients, and knows he is doing it. But at this time, friends came forward and presented a well-lined purse to Mr. Barr, together with loving allusions to his past labours and hearty wishes for his future health.
Then poor Mrs. Barr's face brightened, a temporary curate was engaged, husband and wife went to Devonshire for a month, and returned a fortnight before Christmas, with renewed strength and thankful hearts.
They say that troubles never come-singly, and it happens now and then that the rule holds good with regard to blessings. A couple of years before that, the bishop had held a confirmation at Hillstowe, and, as his custom was, had preferred the simple hospitality of the vicar to that of a wealthy neighbour.
Mr. and Mrs. Barr had not entertained their right reverend guest with stories of difficulties and trials, or complained of their many olive branches and few pounds per annum, or shown him long faces.