A few days after the Lanes returned, Jenny Fenton stood washing and singing in the back yard of the cottage. Tom's work-shed ran along one side of it, and there he was carefully fitting the back of a chair to its seat, while a younger Tom, and a still more youthful Joe, were as diligently building a magnificent sailing-vessel in the corner. A woman of middle age came up to the door, lifted her hand as if to knock, stepped back, and seemed uncertain how to act. A child of six years old, at that moment, ran round the cottage, and looked up in surprise at the stranger standing before the door. "Little maid, what is thy name?" said the stranger. A little doubtful whether the stranger, who in her eyes was a very grand lady, was about to hear her say her catechism, the small child put her hands meekly together, and said-- "Molly, please." "Molly what?" pursued the stranger, with a smile. "Molly Fenton, please." "That will do. Where's mother?" "Please, she's a-washing at the back." "Is that she that singeth?" "Yes, that's her," returned Molly, carefully avoiding grammar. The song came floating to them through the balmy June air. "`O God, my strength, and fortitude, Of force I must love Thee! Thou art my castle and defence In my necessity.'" The strange lady sighed, much to Molly's perplexity; then she rapped at the door. It was opened by Jenny, who stood with an inquiring look on her face, which asked the visitor plainly to say who she was. "You don't know me, then, Jenny Lavender?" "No, Ma-- Dear heart! is it Mrs Millicent?" "It is Millicent Danbury, Jenny. And I am Millicent Danbury still, though you are Jenny Fenton." "Pray you, come within, Mrs Millicent," said Jenny cordially. "I'm right glad to see you. There's been a many changes since we met--Molly, dust that chair, quick, and bring it up for the gentlewoman." "Ay," said Millicent, with another sigh, as she sat down in the heavy Windsor chair which it required all Molly's strength to set for her; "there are many changes, Jenny, very many, since you and I lived together at Bentley Hall." "Not for the worser, are they?" replied Jenny cheerfully. "Ah! I'm not so sure of that, Jenny," answered Millicent. "Well, I'm nowise afeard of changes," said Jenny, in the same bright tone. "The Lord means His people good by all the changes He sends. Mrs Millicent, won't you tarry a while and sup your four-hours with us?" The meal which our ancestors called "four-hours" answered to our tea; but tea had not yet been introduced into England, though it was very soon to be so. They drank, therefore, either milk, or weak home-brewed ale. "With all my heart," was the reply, "if I'm not in your way, Jenny. You are washing, I see."