"The Lord takes care of his children; and she is one."
"If there is such a thing!" said the mantua-maker, a quick tear dimming her eye. "But you see, I have my own work, and I can't leave it to do much for her; and she won't let me, neither; and I am thinkin' about it day and night. She aint fit to work, this minute. And there's the child; and they haven't a living soul to care for them, as I see, in all the world. They never have a letter, and they never get a visit, except your'n."
"Rent paid?" asked the gentleman low.
"Always! never miss. But I'm thinkin'—how do they live? That child's grown thin—she's like a piece o' wiggin'; she'll hold up when there's nothin' to her."
Mr. Digby could not help laughing.
"I thought, if you can't help, nobody can. What's to become of them if she gets worse? That child can't do for her."
"Thank you, Mrs. Marble; you are but touching what I have thought of myself. I will see what can be done."
"And don't be long about it," said the mantua-maker with a nod of her head as she closed the door.
Perhaps it was owing to Mrs. Marble's suggestions that Mr. Digby made his next visit the day but one next after; perhaps they were the cause that he did not come sooner! At any rate, in two days he came again; and brought with him not only a Latin grammar, but a paper of grapes for Mrs. Carpenter. At the grammar Rotha's soul rebelled; but what displeasure could stand against those beautiful grapes and the sight of her mother eating them? They were not very good, Mr. Digby said; he would bring better next time; though to the sick woman they were ambrosia, and to Rotha an unknown, most exquisite dainty. Seeing her delighted, wondering eyes, Mr. Digby with a smile broke off part of a bunch and gave to her.
"It shall not rob your mother," he said observing that she hesitated. "I will bring her some more."