The carriage and the attending servants she had submitted to with simple obedience. There were no rented pews in Broxton Chapel, and she took her seat among the rest, innocently unconscious of the sensation her appearance created. Every matron of the place had had time to learn who she was, and to be filled with curiosity concerning her. Janey Briarley, by whose side she chanced to sit, knew more than all the rest, and took her under her protection at once. "Tha'st getten th' wrong hymn-book," she whispered audibly, having glanced at the volume the servant handed to her. "We dunnot use Wesley aw th' toime. We use Mester Hixon's 'Songs o' Grace.' Tha can look on wi' me." Her delicate attentions and experience quite won Dame Haworth's motherly heart. "I never see a sharper little thing," she said, admiringly, afterward, "nor a old-fashioneder. There wasn't a tex' as she didn't find immediate, nor yet a hymn." "Bless us!" said Mrs. Briarley, laboriously lugging the baby homeward. "An' to think o' her bein' th' mistress o' that big house, wi' aw them chaps i' livery at her beck an' call. Why, she's nowt but a common body, Jane Ann. She thanked thee as simple as ony other woman mought ha' done! She's noan quality. She'd getten a silk gown on, but it wur a black un, an' not so mich as a feather i' her bonnet. I'd ha' had a feather, if I'd ha' been her--a feather sets a body off. But that's allus th' road wi' folk as has brass--they nivver know how to spend it." "Nay," said Janey, "she is na quality; but she's getten a noice way wi' her. Haworth is na quality hissen." "She wur a noice-spoken owd body," commented Mrs. Briarley. "Seemt loike she took a fancy to thee." Janey turned the matter over mentally, with serious thrift. "I should na moind it if she did," she replied. "She'll ha' plenty to gi' away." It was not long before they knew her well. She was a cheerful and neighborly little soul, and through the years of her prosperity had been given to busy and kindly charities. In her steadfast and loving determination to please her son, she gave up her rustic habit of waiting upon herself, and wore her best gown every day, in spite of pangs of conscience. She rode instead of walked, and made courageous efforts to become accustomed to the size and magnificence of the big rooms, but, notwithstanding her faithfulness, she was a little restless. "Not bein' used to it," she said, "I get a little lonesome or so--sometimes, though not often, my dear." She had plenty of time to feel at a loss. Her leisure was not occupied by visitors. Broxton discussed her and smiled at her, rather good-naturedly than otherwise. It was not possible to suspect her of any ill, but it was scarcely to be anticipated that people would go to see her. One person came, however, facing public opinion with her usual calmness,--Rachel Ffrench, who presented herself one day and made her a rather long call.