“Papa’s gone now,” whispered Bobby; “I saw him turn round the corner.” He, at any rate, had learned his lesson—as it was natural that he should do. Some one else, also, had learned that papa was gone; for while Bob and Grace were still counting the big lumps of sugar-candy, each employed the while for inward solace with an inch of barley-sugar, the front-door opened, and a big basket, and a bundle done up in a kitchen-cloth, made surreptitious entrance into the house, and were quickly unpacked by Mrs. Robarts herself on the table in Mrs. Crawley’s bedroom. “I did venture to bring them,” said Fanny, with a look of shame, “for I know how a sick child occupies the whole house.” “Ah! my friend,” said Mrs. Crawley, taking hold of Mrs. Robarts’ arm and looking into her face, “that sort of shame is over with me. God has tried us with want, and for my children’s sake I am glad of such relief.” “But will he be angry?” “I will manage it. Dear Mrs. Robarts, you must not be surprised at him. His lot is sometimes very hard to bear: such things are so much worse for a man than for a woman.” Fanny was not quite prepared to admit this in her own heart, but she made no reply on that head. “I am sure I hope we may be able to be of use to you,” she said, “if you will only look upon me as an old friend, and write to me if you want me. I hesitate to come frequently for fear that I should offend him.” And then, by degrees, there was confidence between them, and the poverty-stricken helpmate of the perpetual curate was able to speak of the weight of her burden to the well-to-do young wife of the Barchester prebendary. “It was hard,” the former said, “to feel herself so different from the wives of other clergymen around her—to know that they lived softly, while she, with all the work of her hands, and unceasing struggle of her energies, could hardly manage to place wholesome food before her husband and children. It was a terrible thing—a grievous thing to think of, that all the work of her mind should be given up to such subjects as these. But, nevertheless, she could bear it,” she said, “as long as he would carry himself like a man, and face his lot boldly before the world.” And then she told how he had been better there at Hogglestock than in their former residence down in Cornwall, and in warm language she expressed her thanks to the friend who had done so much for them. “Mrs. Arabin told me that she was so anxious you should go to them,” said Mrs. Robarts. “Ah, yes; but that I fear is impossible. The children, you know, Mrs. Robarts.” “I would take care of two of them for you.”