bit of dinner if you're not very hungry, Maurice. There's lovely
apple-pie in the basket, and there's milk, but a bit of bread will do
for me. Try and leave a little bit of bread for me when I come."
Maurice nodded, his face beaming at the thought of the apple-pie and
the milk. But Toby's brown eyes said intelligently:

"We'll keep a little bit of _every_thing for you, Cecile, and
I'll take care of Maurice." And Cecile, comforted that Toby would
take excellent care of Maurice, ran away into old Mrs. Bell's room.

"May I sit with you, and may I do a little bit more of Mercy's
sampler, please, Mistress Bell?" she asked.

The old lady, who was propped up in the armchair in the sunshine,
received her in her usual half-puzzled half-pleased way.

"There, Mercy, child, you've grown so queer in your talk that I
sometimes fancy you're half a changeling. May you sit with your
grandam? What next? There, there, bring yer bit of a stool, and get
the sampler out, and do a portion of the feather-stitch. Mind ye're
careful, Mercy, and see as you count as you work."

Cecile sat down willingly, drew out the faded sampler, and made
valiant efforts to follow in the dead Mercy's finger marks. After a
moment or two of careful industry, she laid down her work and spoke:

"Mistress Bell, when 'ull you be likely to see Jesus next, do you
think?"

"Lawk a mercy, child! ain't you near enough to take one's breath