"Bless me, Hannah," I returned, a little impatiently, "you have five other sisters, you tell me; surely one of them could help Molly, if she needed it; why, you might go home yourself!"
"Oh, but none of us understand the cows and the poultry and the bees like Molly, unless it is Lydia, and she is dairymaid up at the Red Farm. They do say Martin Armstrong wants Lyddy; but I hope, in spite of his father's guineas, she will have nothing to say to Scroggins' Mill or Martin. You see, miss," went on Hannah, waxing more confidential as my interest became apparent, "Wheeler's Farm is not a big place, and a lot of children soon crowded it out. Mother was a fine manager, and taught Molly all her ways, but they could not make the attics bigger, and there was not air enough to be healthy for four girls, with a sloping roof and a window not much bigger than your two hands. And then the creeper grew right to the chimneys; and though folk, and especially the squire, Lyddy's master, said how pretty it was, and called Wheeler's Farm an ornament to the whole parish, it choked up the air somehow; and when Annie took a low fever, Dr. Price lectured mother dreadfully about it. But father would not have the creeper taken down, so mother said there were too many of us at home, and some of us girls ought to go to service. Squire Hawtry always wanted Lydia, and Mrs. Morrison, the vicar's wife, took Emma into the nursery; and Dorcas, she went as maid-of-all-work to old Miss Powell; and Jennie and Lizzie found places down Dorcote way; but Mrs. Garnett, who knew my father, coaxed him to let me come to London."
"And you are happy here?" I hazarded; but as I looked up from the cambric frill I was hemming, I noticed the girl's head droop a little.
"Oh, yes, I am happy and comfortable here, miss," she returned, after a moment's hesitation, "for I am fond of children, and it is a pleasant thought that I am saving father my keep, and putting aside a bit of money for a rainy day; but there's no denying that I miss the farm, and Molly, and all the dumb creatures. Why, Jess, the brindled cow, would follow me all down the field, and thrust her wet mouth into my hand if I called her; and as to Rover, Luke's dog——" But here I interrupted her.
"Ah, to be sure! How about your old playfellow, Luke! I suppose you miss him, too."
Hannah coloured, but somehow managed to evade my question, but after a week or two her reserve thawed, and I soon learnt how matters stood between her and Luke Armstrong.
They were not engaged—she would not allow that for a moment. Why, what would father and Molly say if she were to promise herself to a young fellow who only earned enough for his own keep? for Miller Armstrong was that close that he only allowed his youngest son enough to buy his clothes, and took all his hard work in exchange for food and shelter; while Martin could help himself to as much money as he chose, only he was pretty nearly as miserly as his father. Molly was always going on at Luke to leave Scroggins' Mill and better himself among strangers, and there was some talk of his coming nearer London, only he was so loath to leave the place where he was born. Well, if she must own it, Luke and she had broken a sixpence between them, and she had promised Luke that she would not listen to any other young man; and she had kept her word, and she was saving her money, because, if Luke ever made a little home for her, she would not like to go to it empty-handed. All the girls were saving money. Lydia had quite a tidy little sum in the savings bank, and that is what made Martin want her for a wife; for though Lydia had saving qualities, she was even plainer than Molly, and no one expected her to have a sweetheart.
I am not ashamed to confess that Hannah's artless talk interested me greatly. True, she was only a servant, but the simplicity and reality of her narrative appealed to my sympathy; the very homeliness of her speech seemed to stamp it more forcibly on my mind. I seemed to picture it all; the low-ceiled attic crowded with girls; the honest farmer and his strapping sons; hard-featured Molly milking her cows and feeding her poultry; young Luke Armstrong and his dog Rover, strolling down to Wheeler's Farm for a peep at his rosy-faced sweetheart. Many an evening I banished the insidious advances of homesickness by talking to Hannah of her home, and there were times when I almost envied the girl her wealth of home affection.
It seems to me that we lose a great deal in life by closing our ears and hearts to other people's interests; the more we widen our sympathies, and live in folk's lives, the deeper will be our own growth. Some girls simply exist: they never appear to be otherwise than poor, sickly plants, and fail to thrust out new feelers in the sunshine.
In those quiet evening hours when I had work to do for my children, and dare not indulge myself in writing to Aunt Agatha, or reading some deeply interesting book that Travers had procured for me that morning, Hannah's innocent rustic talk seemed to open a new door to my inner consciousness, to admit me into a fresh phase of existence. A sentence I had read to Aunt Agatha that Sunday afternoon often haunted me as I listened. "Behold, how green this valley is, also how beautiful with lilies. I have known many labouring men that have got good estates in this Valley of Humiliation," and I almost held my breath as I remembered that our Lord had been a labouring man.