"I sprained it a fortnight ago, sir—and it is almost the same as well now—only Miss Margarette made me promise not to try to use it too soon."
"Miss Margarette?—Margarette Claremont?" said Montague. "Does she advise you about your lameness?"
"Yes, and more than that, Mr. Montague, for, under Providence, she has cured it. There hasn't been a day since I hurt it, in which she has not come and tended it herself, bathing it with her own little hands, in a medicine she brought a-purpose. I couldn't put her off, Mr. Montague! And when she has so patiently and kindly sat, with the old man's foot in her lap, I'll tell you what I thought; I thought—here is the very spirit of Him who said—'If I, then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye ought also to wash one another's feet'—and the tears ran down my old cheeks whether I would or no."
There was a slight rising in Montague's throat, but he checked it, and inquired—"How far the Commodore was going."
"I don't know exactly, Squire, as I am going to buy a cow, and want to hunt up a pretty good one."
"A cow!" said Montague—"What in the world can you do with a cow?"
"Why, she isn't for my own use, Mr. Montague, though she is to be kind o' mine—but that's neither here nor there, and I must be going, as I want to get back in good season. Good day, Squire," and the Commodore drove off.
A few days after this, when Montague was one morning at Mr. Claremont's, it came into Alice's mind to inquire after his protégés, the Delanty's.
"O, they are all well, and in comparatively comfortable circumstances," said Montague. "They have found a very kind friend, who has furnished them with comfortable clothing, besides lending them a cow. Should they be the survivors, I think they would canonize her," added he, smiling.
"Her!" said Alice. "Is it a lady, then?"