He now called out: “Grandmother! here is the lady from the great school, coming to look for Miss.”
“Then I fear, madam, you are coming to look for what you will not find. Whilst my daughter went down to the pond, to the children, she slipped off. My son thinks that the young lady is gone to London in one of the stage-coaches. If so, Tom, I fear thou wilt be well paid.”
“Ah, grandmother, that’s nothing new! If my own mother was living, it would not be so.”
“With your permission,” said Mrs. Adair, as she entered the cottage, “I will take a seat till your daughter returns.”
“Certainly, madam; here is a comfortable seat. But we are not the neatest people in the world,” said the old woman, as she took up a child’s frock from the floor. Mrs. Adair looked round, and thought she had never been in any place that had so little the appearance of comfort.
The boy looked at her, and seemed to read her countenance.
“It was not always so, madam: I remember we were once happy folks; but it was a sad day for Dick and I, when father’s wife took place of father’s love.”
“Thou shouldst think well of thy father’s wife, and honour his choice. Stepmothers, child, have a hard task: they cannot please, do what they will.”
“Grandmother,” said the boy, “kindness makes kindness, all the world over. But, come what will, when uncle comes home, Dick and I will go to Plymouth, if we walk barefoot. I am sure he would break his heart, if he had not me to fight his battles; but I will never forsake him by land or by sea.”
“Go to the children, and take care of them,” said the old woman.