She curtsied again and again, and seemed so unaffectedly glad, that my heart warmed in spite of myself. Miss Saville was quite thrown into the shade. The children made their little curtsies, the old woman endeavored to rise, a chair was carefully wiped by poor Mary's apron, and placed between the window and the fire for me; and Granny made a moving explanation of "her rheumatiz, that made her unmannerly." I was restored to satisfaction. I do not think I had been so much pleased since I came to Cottiswoode. Yes! these were my own people. "We've had a deal of trouble, Miss--ma'am--a deal of trouble," said Mary, putting the corner of her apron to her eyes. "There was first poor Tom fell ill and died, and all the little uns had the fever, and Granny took the rheumatiz so bad, that she never can move out of her chair. It's been hard to get the bit and the sup for them all, lady. But now Alice gets a big wench; and little Jane goes of errands, and Farmer Giles gives 'em a day's work now and again, weeding and gathering stones; and I'm a bit easier in my mind--but, oh! it's been hard days in Cottiswoode since you and the good old Squire went away." I knew no reason Mary had to call my father the good old Squire: yet I was pleased with the appellation. "Come to the Hall, Mary, and Alice will see if there is anything for you," I said; "and you must tell me what poor old Granny wants, and what I can do for her. Granny, do you recollect me?" "I rechlet your grandmama, Miss," said the old woman, "better than you--that was the lady, she stood for my Susan, next to Mary, that I buried fifty years come Whitsuntide. I kneawn all the family, I do. I rechlet the young gentlemen, and Mr. Brian, that never had his rights. This Squire is his son, they tell me. Well, you've com'd and married him, Miss, and I bless the day; everything's agwoin on right now. The Southcote blood's been kind to me and mine, and I wish well of it, wishing ye joy, Miss, and a welcome home." I bowed my head in silent bitterness. Wishing me joy! what a satire it seemed. "Are you very busy, Mary?" said Miss Saville. "Now do you think, if Alice had not come to school, and been taught her duty, she would have sat there so quietly helping her mother. I don't believe anything of the kind." "Thank you all the same, Ma'am, it done her a deal of good gwoing to school," said Mary, with a submissive, yet resolute courtesy, "but she always was a good child." "I don't say she's a good child now--she's doing no more than her duty," said Miss Saville, with a peremptory little nod; "there's nothing worse for children than to praise them to their faces. There's that boy of yours, not half an hour ago, if I had not been at hand, he might have broken his neck, clambering into the cart on the edge of the common. I am sure, how these children escape with their lives, with nobody to look after them, is a constant wonder to me."