on in the same
tone. "Now there's that lady there"--with a little courtly wave of her
hand towards Mrs. Burton--"she can't read yer know, Nurse, and I'm that
sorry for her! But I've been reading to her, an' Emily--just while my
cough's quiet--one of my ole tracks."

She held up a little paper-covered tract worn with use. It was called "A
Pennorth of Grace, or a Pound of Works?" Marcella looked at it in
respectful silence as she put on her cloak. Such things were not in her
line.

"I do _love_ a track!" said Mrs. Jervis, pensively. "That's why I don't
like these buildings so well as them others, Em'ly. Here you never get
no tracks; and there, what with one person and another, there was a new
one most weeks. But"--her voice dropped, and she looked timidly first at
her friend, and then at Marcella--"she isn't a Christian, Nurse. Isn't
it sad?"

Mrs. Burton, a woman of a rich mahogany complexion, with a black
"front," and a mouth which turned down decisively at the corners,
looked up from her embroidery with severe composure.

"No, Nurse, I'm not a Christian," she said in the tone of one stating a
disagreeable fact for which they are noways responsible. "My brother
is--and my sisters--real good Christian people. One of my sisters
married a gentleman up in Wales. She 'as two servants, an' fam'ly
prayers reg'lar. But I've never felt no 'call,' and I tell 'em I can't
purtend. An' Mrs. Jervis here, she don't seem to make me see it no
different."

She held her head erect, however, as though the unusually high sense of
probity involved, was, after all, some consolation. Mrs. Jervis looked
at her with pathetic eyes. But Emily coloured hotly. Emily was a
churchwoman.

"Of course you're a Christian, Mrs. Burton," she said indignantly. "What
she means, Nurse, is she isn't a 'member' of any chapel, like mother.
But she's been baptised and confirmed, for I asked her. And of course
she's a Christian."

"Em'ly!" said Mrs. Jervis, with energy.

Emily looked round trembling. The delicate invalid was sitting bolt
upright, her eyes sparkling, a spot of red on either hollow cheek. The
glances of the two women crossed; there seemed to be a mute struggle
between them. Then Emily laid down her iron, stepped quickly across to
her mother, and kneeling beside her, threw her arms around her.

"Have it your own way, mother," she said, while her lip quivered; "I
wasn't a-goin' to cross you."

Mrs. Jervis laid her waxen cheek against her