My mother was very busy that night, dusting and cleaning, and I think I never saw her in a happier mood. Now and then she went into the shop, and stood quietly behind the counter, noting how uncle Bryan attended to his business. He took not the slightest notice of her; did not address a single word to her. Once she came bustling back, with an air of importance. 'I've served a customer, Chris,' she said gleefully. Uncle Bryan's shop was stocked with small supplies of everything in the grocery line, and in addition to these, he sold a few simple medicines for clearing the blood--some of them, I afterwards learned, of his own concoction and mixing. Friday was the day fixed for the preparation and making-up of these medicines, for Saturday was the great night for the sale of the mixtures to working people, who purchased them in halfpenny and penny doses. I discovered that uncle Bryan's pills were famous in the neighbourhood. I calculated that on this Saturday night he must have served at least fifty customers with his medicines. The little parlour presented quite a different appearance when my mother had finished cleaning and dusting. I looked for some expression of approval in uncle Bryan's face when he came in to partake of a bread-and-cheese supper; but I saw none. During the night my thoughts wandered to the little girl who had given the first halfpenny to my mother. I spoke about her. 'Do you think she will be sorry or glad, mother, because she will not see you to-night?' 'Sorry, I think, Chris; she will fancy I am ill.' 'But this is a great deal better, mother.' 'Infinitely better, dear child: and remember, we owe it all to uncle Bryan.' Neither my mother nor I felt at all strange in our new home, and I slept as soundly as if I had lived in the house for years. Before we went to bed, my mother and I had a delicious ten minutes' chat; the storm in our lives which had lasted so long, and which had threatened to wreck us, had cleared away, and a delightful sense of rest stole into our hearts. On the Sunday no business was done. After breakfast, uncle Bryan brought his account-book into the parlour, and busied himself with his accounts, adding up the week's takings, and calculating what profit was made. My mother asked him if he was going to church. 'I never go to church,' was his reply. My mother looked grieved, but she entered into no argument with him. 'You have no objection to our going?' she said timidly. 'What have I to do with it? I dictate to no one. If you think it right to go to church, go.' 'Is there one near, Bryan?' 'Zion Chapel isn't two minutes' walk.'