languid interest roused by the young governess's evident delight. "You will like that. I think you have spent all your holidays till now at Clapham, have you not?"
"Yes: it was too expensive to go all the way home."
"It must be a long journey to Farley."
"Yes: I have to start at eight in the morning, and I get to Brigham, our nearest town, at five."
"Dear me! that is a long time to be in the train, and in this cold weather too, eight—nine hours!"
"It is the cheapest train: I don't mind its being slow," Mary said, simply: "my brother will meet me at Brigham."
"Well, good-night," said Mrs. Halroyd, rising: "not good-by,—for I shall see you to-morrow. You don't leave town till the next day, I think?"
"If I may stay," said Mary, "I should like to do a little shopping before I go."
"Certainly: I hope the servants will take good care of you." And Mrs. Halroyd departed, congratulating herself on having got over her quarterly penance of paying Miss Mackworth's salary: a thing to which she never could get accustomed. She always fancied that it must be as painful to the governess as to herself; wherein she was wholly mistaken, for it appeared to Mary the most natural and desirable arrangement in the world that she should work hard and be paid for doing so. Her first act was to draw out the three crisp, rustling five-pound notes—her quarter's salary—and actually waltz round once or twice in a burst of childish happiness. Then she went to her desk, and drew out two more five-pound notes, saved from the last quarter at the cost of who knows what weary hours of ceaseless stitchery; what private washings, and starchings of sleeves and laces; what vigorous self-denial in the matter of ribbons and dresses, things which no one appreciated more thoroughly than Mary Mackworth.
"How much," she deliberated, "may I fairly spend in presents? How much must I keep for those terrible Christmas bills at home? The journey will cost—let me see—I will go third class instead of second—that will save something. And one thing I may let myself get:—a winter shawl for the dear mother—that is useful—that she really wants. Harry must take the stockings I have knitted him for a present—and anything will please the little boys. But oh! I should like to get papa that book about the Jewish church that he said would be so useful in his lectures on the Old Testament, and I must keep a little money to buy some trifle for Cilla: something dainty and pretty, like her dear bonny self!"
Next morning the whole Halroyd family were off soon after breakfast to spend Christmas with Colonel Halroyd's mother at her place in Surrey. As soon as the two cabs and the carriage had disappeared, and Miss Mackworth could cease smiling and kissing her hand to the little nodding, grinning faces at the window, she turned back into the house, and raced nimbly up-stairs, rejoicing that she might run up two steps at a time without setting a bad example, put on her cloak and bonnet, looped up her dress, provided herself with a thick cotton umbrella, and set forth on her round of shopping. She had settled with her conscience the exact sum which she might allow herself to spend in presents: and as is usually the case, that sum did not go as far as she had expected. As she went to distant shops, and performed all her errands on foot, it took a long time, and the short daylight was almost gone, when, having bought a serviceable shawl for her mother, some toys for the children, and a few cheap prettinesses for her sister, she looked with dismay at the money in her purse, now considerably dwindled.
"Oh dear! shall I ever be able to get that Jewish book for papa?" she thought: and then, wrapping herself in her cloak, for the afternoon was very bleak and raw, with a biting wind, she betook herself to a bookseller's in Oxford-street. The man supplied all Mrs. Halroyd's school-room books, and knew Miss Mackworth well. He saw and pitied her look of blank disappointment when the work proved to be quite beyond her means, and good-naturedly made a suggestion.
"I'll tell you where you might possibly get it for your price, ma'am. They often sell off their surplus copies at Grueby's, and you might have a chance there."
"Oh! thank you," said Miss Mackworth, heartily; and, quite undismayed at the increasing cold and thickening darkness, she hailed a passing omnibus, and soon found herself at her new destination. Rather timidly, for the place was new to her, she approached the counter, and, to her great joy, found what she wanted at a more moderate price than she had dared to hope. She could not repress an exclamation of pleasure, and then coloured, feeling that her earnest "Oh! that is nice!" low-toned though it was, had attracted the attention of a gentleman who was standing by, waiting for a box of books. The box made its appearance just as Mary had laid down
