She gathered her lean figure up from the hillock, and took up her pail.

As for the girl Winifred, a terrible feeling of fear had come over her.
All the bright world of sun and flowers seemed suddenly overshadowed by
the lowering cloud of an awful possibility. She would no more have
allowed herself to be left alone in that sunny corner of the glad spring
morning than she would have remained alone where visible danger beset
her. Her face bathed in the sudden tears that came so easily to her
girlish eyes, she sprang like a fawn after her companion and grasped her
skirt as she followed.

"How you take on!" sighed the woman, turning. "Do you mean to say you
ain't, glad?"

"I'm frightened," gasped the girl.

"And you been confirmed this spring! What did it mean to you if you
ain't glad there's ever such a little chance of perhaps seeing Him
before the year's out."

They both climbed the fence, handing over the milk-pail between them.
When they had got on to the road and must part, the housekeeper spoke.

"I tell you what it is, Winifred Rexford; we've not one of us much to
bring Him in the way of service. If there's one thing more than another
I'm fond of it's to have my kitchen places to myself, but I've often
thought I ought to ask yer ma to send one of you over every day to learn
from me how a house ought to be kept and dinner cooked. Ye'd learn more
watching me in a month, you know, than ye'd learn with yer ma a fussin'