Sing, meantime, had installed himself as the presiding genius of the kitchen, and he and the half-breed Indian girl were getting along famously together.
"How long have you lived in this place, Mrs. Barton?" asked Mrs. Jones.
"Twenty-three years," replied she.
"Well, have you not found it a very monotonous existence?"
"I did at first; but as my children were born, my mind and heart were so taken up by them that time did not hang heavily upon our hands. I really believe that we are much happier than the majority of people in the towns and cities."
"O, if mother can but get well, it seems to me that I shall never be discontented again in Constance House!" exclaimed Jennie, her eyes filling with tears.
"My poor girl does long sometimes to see the great world," said Mrs. Barton, stroking the head of Jennie, who was sitting upon a stool at her feet. "Well, my dear girl, I believe that God, in his infinite mercy, has sent us help directly from the skies; for I must say that last night, as I lay the first time for many weary months free from pain and awful burning and restlessness, that I thanked God as I had never done before; and my faith went out to Him so that I felt a great peace settle upon me. He has blessed the means being used. I shall recover, my darling girl."
Jennie, in a paroxysm of joy, threw herself at her mother's feet, and buried her face in her lap, weeping as she had never done in her life. At this juncture the Doctor, Professor Gray, and Mr. Barton entered the room.
"Tut, tut," said the Doctor, seeing the tears streaming down the faces of the four women, "what sort of business is this? You ought to all be laughing instead of crying. There is nothing to cry about, I assure you."
"Doctor," said Mrs. Barton, extending her hand to him, "you do not understand. We are rejoicing, and this is just our poor woman's way of doing it."