way of saying her prayers with no earthly listener. Often and
often I have found her on her knees, but I always went softly away,
closing the door. I never heard her pray, but I know very well how
she prayed, and that, when that door was shut, there was not a day
in God's sight between the worn woman and the little child.




CHAPTER VI - HER MAID OF ALL WORK


And sometimes I was her maid of all work.

It is early morn, and my mother has come noiselessly into my room.
I know it is she, though my eyes are shut, and I am only half
awake. Perhaps I was dreaming of her, for I accept her presence
without surprise, as if in the awakening I had but seen her go out
at one door to come in at another. But she is speaking to herself.

'I'm sweer to waken him - I doubt he was working late - oh, that
weary writing - no, I maunna waken him.'

I start up. She is wringing her hands. 'What is wrong?' I cry,
but I know before she answers. My sister is down with one of the
headaches against which even she cannot fight, and my mother, who
bears physical pain as if it were a comrade, is most woebegone when
her daughter is the sufferer. 'And she winna let me go down the
stair to make a cup of tea for her,' she groans.