"An old lady!" said Mary, with an involuntary smile.

"Oh, yes. I laughed too, the first time. I said it would be old Mrs.
Prentiss, or perhaps the char-woman, or some old lady from the village
that had been in the habit of coming in the former people's time. But the
child got very angry. She said it was a real lady. She would not allow me
to speak. Then we thought perhaps it was some one who did not know the
house was let, and had walked in to look at it; but nobody would go on
coming like that with all the signs of a large family in the house. And
now the doctor says the child must be low, that the place perhaps doesn't
agree with her, and that we must send her away. Now I ask you, how could
I send little Connie away, the apple of her father's eye? I should have
to go with her, of course, and how could the house get on without me?
Naturally we are very anxious. And this afternoon she has seen her again,
and sits there crying because she says the dear old lady looks so sad. I
just seized my hat, and walked out, to come to you and your friends at
the vicarage, to see if you could help me. Mrs. Bowyer may look down upon
a city person,--I don't mind that; but she is a mother, and surely she
would feel for a mother," cried the poor lady vehemently, putting up her
hands to her wet eyes.

"Oh, indeed, indeed she would! I am sure now that she will call
directly. We did not know what a--" Mary stopped herself in saying,
"what a nice woman you are," which she thought would be rude, though poor
Mrs. Turner would have liked it. But then she shook her head and added,
"What could any of us do to help you? I have never heard of any old lady.
There never was anything--I know all about the house, everything that has
ever happened, and Prentiss will tell you. There is nothing of that
kind,--indeed, there is nothing. You must have--" But here Mary stopped