"No trees?" "No. In some of the fine streets I believe there are shade trees." "No _gardens_, mother?" "No." "But what do people do for vegetables and things?" "They are brought out of the country, and sold in the markets. Don't you know Mr. Jones sends his potatoes and his fruit to the city?" "Then if you want a potato, you must go to the market and buy it?" "Yes." "Or an apple, mother?" "Yes, or anything." "Well I suppose that will do," said Rotha slowly, "if you have money enough. I shouldn't think it was pleasant. Do the houses stand _close_ together?" "So close, that you cannot lay a pin between them." "I should want to have very good neighbours, then." Rotha was innocently touching point after point of doubt and dread in her mother's mind. Presently she touched another. "I don't think it sounds pleasant, mother. Suppose we should not like it after we get there?" Mrs. Carpenter did not answer. "What then, mother? Would you come back again, if we did not like it there?" "There would be no place to come to, here, any more, my child. I hope we shall find it comfortable where we are going." "Then you don't know?" said Rotha. "And perhaps we shall not! But, mother, that would be dreadful, if we did not like it!" "I hope you would help me to bear it." "I!" said Rotha. "You don't want help to bear anything; do you, mother?" An involuntary gush of tears came at this appeal; they were not suffered to overflow. "I should not be able to bear much without help, Rotha. Want help? yes, I want it--and I have it. God sends nothing to his children but he sends help too; else," said Mrs. Carpenter, brushing her hand across her eyes, "they would not last long! But, Rotha, lie means that we should help each other too." "I help you?" "Yes, certainly. You can, a great deal." "That seems very funny. Mother, what is wrong about aunt Serena?" said Rotha, following a very direct chain of ideas. "I hope nothing is wrong about her." And Mrs. Carpenter, in her gentle, unselfish charity, meant it honestly; her little daughter was less gentle and perhaps more logical. "Why, mother, does she ever do anything to help you?" "Her life is quite separate from mine," Mrs. Carpenter replied evasively. "Well, it would be right in her to help you. And when people are not right, they are wrong." "Let us take care of our own right and wrong, Rotha. We shall have enough to do with that." "But, mother, what _is_ the matter with aunt Serena? Why doesn't she help you? She can." "Our lives went different ways, a long time ago, my child. We have never been near each other since." "But now you are going to be where she is, mother?" "Rotha, did you rip up your brown merino?" "Not yet." "Then go and do it now. I want it to make over for you."