His attention was soon attracted by Ann’s giving two or three heavy sighs, as if she were in pain; and looking up, he saw a frown of suffering on her face, as she bent down and touched her ankle with her hand. “Have you hurt yourself, dear mother?” said he. “Yes; I think that I sprained my ankle this morning. Dear me, how it has swelled!” “I am so sorry!” cried Mark, instantly rising. “You should put up your foot, and not tire it by moving about. There,” said he, sitting down at her feet, “rest it on my knee, and I will rub it gently. Is it not more easy now?” Ann only replied by a sigh, but she let him go on, and patiently he sat there, chafing her ankle with his thin, weary fingers. He could scarcely prevent himself from falling asleep. “That is very comfortable,” said the woman at last; “certainly it’s more than any of the others would do for their mother; they never so much as asked me how I did. You’re worth all the three, Mark,” she added bitterly, “and little cause have you to show kindness to me. Just go to that cupboard—it hurts me to move—you’ll find there some bread and cheese left.” [Illustration: MARK’S KINDNESS.] Mark joyfully obeyed, and never was a feast more delicious than that humble meal. Never was a grace pronounced more from the depths of a grateful heart than that uttered by the poor peasant boy. CHAPTER VII. THE ARBOUR ON THE HILL. “Now, about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant arbour made by the Lord of the hill for the refreshment of weary travellers.”—_Pilgrim’s Progress._ Several days passed with but few events to mark them. Mark did everything for Ann to save her from exertion, and under his care her ankle became better. He also endeavoured to keep the cottage more tidy, and clear the little garden from weeds, remembering that “cleanliness is next to godliness,” and that _if any man will not work, neither should he eat_. One morning Madge burst into the cottage where Mark and Ann were sitting together. “He is coming!” she exclaimed in a breathless voice; “he is coming—he is just at the gate!” “Who?” cried Ann and Mark at once. “The parson—the—” “Not Mr. Ewart!” exclaimed Ann, starting up in terror. “Yes it is—the tall man dressed in black.” In a moment the woman rushed to the back room as fast as her ankle would let her. “I’ll keep quiet here,” she said. “If he asks for me, say that I have just gone to the miller’s.” “Mother’s precious afraid of a parson,” said Madge, as a low knock was heard at the door. With pleasure Mark opened to his benefactor.