But they did not think of getting anybody who could write to tell all this to the Good Lady: nor did it occur to them that she might possibly know it all. The men and boys collected pretty spars for her; and the women and girls knitted gloves and comforters, and made pincushions for her, in the faith that they should some day see her again. Meanwhile, they talked of her every day. CHAPTER IX, AND LAST. It was a fine spring day when the Good Lady re-appeared at Bleaburn. There she was, perfectly well, and glad to see health on so many of the faces about her. Some were absent whom she had left walking about in the strength of their prime; but others whom she had last seen lying helpless, like living skeletons, were now on their feet, with a light in their eyes, and some little tinge of colour in their cheeks. There were sad spectacles to be seen of premature decrepitude, of dreadful sores, of deafness, of lameness, left by the fever. There were enough of these to have saddened the heart of any stranger entering Bleaburn for the first time, but to Mary, the impression was that of a place risen from the dead. There was much grass in the churchyard, and none in the streets: the windows of the cottages were standing wide, letting it be seen that the rooms were white-washed within. There was an indescribable air of freshness and brightness about the whole place, which made her feel and say that she hardly thought the fever could harbour there again. As she turned into the lane leading to her aunt’s, the sound of the hammer, and the chipping of stone were heard; and some workmen whom she did not know, turned from their work of planing boards, to see why a crowd could be coming round the corner. These were workmen from O——, building Neale’s new cottages, in capital style. And, for a moment, two young ladies entering from the other end, were equally perplexed as to what the extraordinary bustle could mean. Their mother, however, understood it at a glance, and hastened forward to greet the Good Lady, sending a boy to fetch Mr. Kirby immediately. Mrs. Kirby’s dryness of manner broke down altogether when she introduced her daughters to Mary. “Let them say they have shaken hands with you,” said she, as she herself kissed the hand she held. It was not easy for Mary to spare a hand, so laden was she with pincushions and knitted wares; but the Kirbys took them from her, and followed in her train, till the Widow Johnson appeared on her threshold, pale as marble, and grave as a monument, but well and able to hold out her arms to Mary. Poor Jem’s excitement seemed to show that he was aware that some great event was happening. His habits were the same as before his illness, and he had no peace till he had shut the door when Mary entered. Everybody then went away for the time; plenty of eyes, however, being on the watch for the moment when the Good Lady should be visible again.