he night, just to ask her did she think sister Mary was thinking of us
in heaven; but Jane used to get into such dreadful fits of crying that I
grew afraid. I wish some one would talk of her. I think it is cruel of
us all to forget her because she is dead."

And tears stood in Mopsie's blue eyes. But the next half hour she was
singing like a skylark over some household task.

CHAPTER IV.

The winter deepened. Christmas was drawing near, and workmen were busy
setting the old Hall to rights for the reception of Mr. Hill and his
family. John had been requested to oversee the arrangements, for the
place had been unoccupied for years, and there were many alterations to
be made, and much new furnishing to be done. The housekeeper, who had
quietly dozed away half her life in two rooms in a corner of the house,
now bestirred herself joyfully to open shutters, kindle fires, see to
the sweeping and scrubbing, keep her eye upon painters and charwomen,
and make ready store of pickles and preserves for the adornment of her
pantry shelves.

This good woman was an old acquaintance of our two girls, their long
walks often leading them across the moor, and through the grounds to the
Hall. Mrs. Beatty, from her lonely window, had always espied their
approach, and many a winter day had she fed them with sweets by her
fireside, while she dried their wet wrappings, and told them stories of
the pictures in the dining-room. Later, they had discovered the library,
a sunny room at the south side of the house, stored with an excellent
collection of books, and had gone there to read when it pleased them. I,
in my capacity of governess, encouraged them in this habit, and at least
once a week we had a "reading day," as we called it. Mrs. Beatty knew
our day, and had coffee and a blazing fire awaiting us. And here we had
delicious times of study, with our books in our laps, perched on the
steps of the little ladder, or buried deep in the recesses of the deep
leathern chairs.

Now, however, the luxury of our quiet days was interfered with. Workmen
hammered about our ears, and an impertinent odour of paint annoyed us.
We turned our reading days into days of general inspection, and amused
ourselves with watching how the dingy corners threw off their cobwebs
one after another, and came forth into the light with clean and
brilliant faces. It was pleasant to know that I was useful to John in
those days, for his mother did not interfere in thi