Loveday felt the approval, and her heart took wings to the heaven of
certain hope. Indeed, had Loveday but had the sense of what was fitting
to tell the Vicar's lady, she might have attained what she wanted, but
hope, like despair, ever made Loveday heady.

"What work do you want?" asked Mrs. Veale. "I should have sent you out
to service long ago, but I knew your aunt needed you at home. Has she
sent you?"

"No, ma'am," answered Loveday, "I came of myself. I want work I can do
in my spare time, when Aunt Senath don't need me."

So far all was well; the scheme sounded fit for encouragement by the
Church, ever anxious for the welfare of even her humblest children.
Mrs. Veale gave thought to her boots and knives ... no, the gardener's
boy did them, and he was being prepared for confirmation and must not be
unsettled. The mending ... that was done by the housemaid in her spare
time, superintended by Mrs. Veale herself, and it would not be fair to
the girl to leave her with idle hands for Satan's use when they could
be employed instead upon sheets and stockings. The washing ... the
housemaid's mother came to do that, glad to do so at a reasonable price
for the opportunity of seeing how her daughter prospered from week to
week under such care as Mrs. Veale bestowed on all the maids whom she
trained. The spring cleaning ... a girl who did not know the ways of the
house would make work instead of saving it. Yet Mrs. Veale felt, as a
Christian woman, that it was her duty to encourage Loveday even at the
cost of her own china. She resolved to do so.

"Many people would not help you, Loveday," she said, "for it is
very difficult to find work suddenly without upsetting the ways of a