On the contrary, they had just been their good, true selves, and had made him as comfortable as possible, without going out of their way.
The bishop had departed with pleasant words of farewell and thanks for Mr. and Mrs. Barr's hospitality; and there, as was thought, the matter ended.
It did not, however. The bishop remembered Hillstowe, made his calculations, and wished, vainly for the time, that he could give Mr. Barr a better living.
Then he heard of his illness and recovery, and then, too, came the bishop's opportunity. Immediately after the vicar's return, a letter arrived in the diocesan's own handwriting, offering him a living, worth eight hundred a year, in another county.
There was joy and sorrow, both in-doors and out, at the news. Joy for the vicar's sake, sorrow that he would be lost as the pastor of Hillstowe. I was nearly wild with delight. I did not know at first that this change would mean separation from the Barrs.
So it proved, however. The beautiful little rectory to which they must remove with the new year had been built by a childless predecessor, and would be too small to hold the troop of juvenile Barrs, to say nothing or Mary Baxendell. Moreover, the Baxendells would not spare Mary to go any distance from High Lea.
Until the rectory could be enlarged, it was settled that the elder girls should go to a boarding-school, and the twin boys should attend a good day-school, which was within an easy distance of their future home.
My occupation was gone. My pupils were about to be scattered, I was to lose the precious little one that called herself Miss Anstey's baby, and whose curly head had so often rested on my breast in sleep, and enriched me by her sweet presence!
I should lose the companionship of Mrs. Barr too, and more. I must begin to look round for some other work to do, some roof beneath which there would be room for Lois Anstey.
I was very down-hearted, not because I had to work for my bread, but for fear I might not find the work to do, and at the thought of going out again into the wide world and all amongst strangers. It was in vain I took myself to task for selfishness. I did rejoice in the good which had come to these dear friends, but how could I wholly forget that the message which brought new life to them was almost like death to me?