"You may have whom you like up here; I don't mind if it makes you happy. I'm ashamed of myself. Don't let's say any more about it. I'm only down for the day. I'm going home to-morrow." "Home, Arthur! this is your home. I can't bear to hear you speak of any other place as your home." "Well, mother, then I shall say that I'm going back to business to-morrow." Mrs. Barfield sighed. XLVII Days, weeks, months passed away, and the two women came to live more and more like friends and less like mistress and maid. Not that Esther ever failed to use the respectful "ma'am" when she addressed her mistress, nor did they ever sit down to a meal at the same table. But these slight social distinctions, which habit naturally preserved, and which it would have been disagreeable to both to forego, were no check on the intimacy of their companionship. In the evening they sat in the library sewing, or Mrs. Barfield read aloud, or they talked of their sons. On Sundays they had their meetings. The folk came from quite a distance, and sometimes as many as five-and-twenty knelt round the deal table in the drawing room, and Esther felt that these days were the happiest of her life. She was content in the peaceful present, and she knew that Mrs. Barfield would not leave her unprovided for. She was almost free from anxiety. But Jack did not seem to be able to obtain regular employment in London, and her wages were so small that she could not help him much. So the sight of his handwriting made her tremble, and she sometimes did not show the letter to Mrs. Barfield for some hours after. One Sunday morning, after meeting, as the two women were going for their walk up the hill, Esther said-- "I've a letter from my boy, ma'am. I hope it is to tell me that he's got back to work." "I'm afraid I shan't be able to read it, Esther. I haven't my glasses with me." "It don't matter, ma'am--it'll keep." "Give it to me--his writing is large and legible. I think I can read it. 'My dear mother, the place I told you of in my last letter was given away, so I must go on in the toy-shop till something better turns up. I only get six shillings a week and my tea, and can't quite manage on that.' Then something--something--'pay three and sixpence a week'--something--'bed' --something--something." "I know, ma'am; he shares a bed with the eldest boy." "Yes, that's it; and he wants to know if you can help him. 'I don't like to trouble you, mother; but it is hard for a boy to get his living in London.'" "But I've sent him all my money. I shan't have any till next quarter." "I'll lend you some, Esther. We can't leave the boy to starve. He can't live on two and sixpence a week." "You're very good, ma'am; but I don't like to take your money. We shan't be able to get the garden cleared this winter." "We shall manage somehow, Esther. The garden must wait. The first thing to do is to see that your boy doesn't want for food."