Maggie was a dark-eyed, rosy-checked damsel, full of spirits, rather too fond of finery, yet kindly hearted and of an affectionate disposition. She had only been home a few days when Mrs. Livesey was taken ill. What so natural as that the one neighbour who had persisted in making her acquaintance should minister to her during her sickness? What so certain as that one pair of hands proving insufficient, the bright-eyed daughter should relieve her mother?
Both were very kind. There could be no mistake about that, and Adam was very grateful, and longed to express his feelings; but having become taciturn by habit, he hardly knew how to begin. He thought he should offer payment, but was afraid of giving offence. However, greatly to his relief, Mrs. Allison guessed from the first hesitating words what was coming, and stopped the rest.
"Don't you say one word about what Maggie and I have done. Mrs. Livesey was heartily welcome to our best, whether by night or day. I felt for her, having no daughter or sister to watch by her. Our turns will come, when we shall want looking after, and somebody will have to do for us what we have done for your mother."
Adam found words to express his thanks, and the friendly widow extended her good offices, put his house in order for him, made all the arrangements that would have fallen naturally to a woman's hand, had there been one of his kindred to undertake them, and laid him under no small obligation by so doing. What so natural as for him to consult such kindly neighbours, and to talk over with them his plans for the future?
"I think I shall sell the few sticks of furniture and go into lodgings," he said. "It is so lonely to come home and find no mother. She was very quiet, but she was always there."
"I wouldn't, if I were you," replied the widow briskly. "It would never do for you to be by yourself. You must have somebody to look after you. If you sold your things, you would get next to nothing for them, and yet there is a tidy little lot. They would cost a good bit if you had to buy them. You'll not be a bachelor always, Mr. Livesey, and it says a deal for your good heart that you denied yourself of marrying and stopped with your mother."
The widow's words were strangely confusing to Adam Livesey, and the suggestion was a novel one to him. The idea of marrying had not entered his mind, though, now he was alone in the world, it came home with great force as the most fitting remedy for his solitude. Almost involuntarily he looked towards the widow's daughter, and she, seeing his glance, turned quickly to the window, though not soon enough to hide the flush that rose to her cheek at the words of her mother.
Maggie Allison was young, pretty, bright, and kind. How different it would be if he had such a face as that to meet him at the threshold! How pleasant to hear her singing about his little house, as she did about her mother's! He had heard her voice often, through the thin walls which divided the tenements, and thought that she was just like a bird, with her cheery voice and active movements. How delightful it would be to have her at one side of the hearth, turning that rosy face towards him, and chatting away about all that had happened during his working hours! Thus cogitated Adam Livesey. Before he went back to his own cottage that night, Mrs. Allison had persuaded him to let things be for a while, until he had time to turn round.
"Maggie and me will see to things for you. Just for a bit, till you settle on something, or somebody to keep house," added the widow, with a half-smile hovering round her features.
Adam thankfully agreed, and went home with his mind full of Maggie Allison, and wondering whether, after all her mother had said about her being the last daughter left, and her dread of losing her, she would look favourably upon him as a suitor. Perhaps if she were only coming next door it would not be like parting! There was hope in that fact.