Huldah felt some of the load slip off her spirits as she looked about her.  Here really was a home for Aunt Emma,—­and now it rested with herself to make it as neat and comfortable and happy as a home could be.  She would keep it as clean as a new pin, and as pretty as lay in her power.  She tried to conquer her sadness by hard work, to put away her sorrow at leaving Aunt Martha and Dick and their happy life together.

“Brownies always go where there’s most to be done, Miss Rose says, not where they’ll be most comfortable,” she said to herself, bravely, but her poor little face was very wistful.  A few days later, though, when, after a long day’s work, she sat down and looked about her, she remarked cheerfully, “I don’t think anybody can go on feeling very miserable when they’ve lots to do and somebody to take care of.”  A glow of pride warmed her heart, as she sat there drying her water-soaked hands, and glanced from the gleaming stove and fire-irons to the speckless window, and well-scrubbed table.

On the table stood a jar full of autumn flowers, and on the window-sill a box full of brown earth and little roots, double daisies, primulas, wallflowers.  This last was Huldah’s special joy and pride.

“We’ll have a proper little garden there, when the spring comes,” she remarked proudly to Aunt Emma.

Aunt Emma shook her head in melancholy fashion.  “I shan’t be here to see it.”

“Oh yes you will.  You’ll be helping me with the spring cleaning,” said Huldah, trying to keep cheerful,—­one of the hardest of her daily tasks, for Aunt Emma’s melancholy seldom left her.  She never saw the bright side of anything, poor soul, nor the best, nor did she try to; and the depressingness of it told on the child’s spirits more than anyone knew.

She worked very hard indeed at this time.  The vicar had given them the rooms rent-free; but Huldah’s basket-making had to supply almost everything else—­food, clothing, lights, and many an extra—­needed for Aunt Emma.  Their rooms were few, and there was not much in them, but all that had to be done fell to Huldah to do.  Emma Smith never put her hand to anything, not even to wash a dish, cook a meal, or make her own bed.  She needed a great deal of waiting on, too, and was very fretful.  She did not like to be left alone, even while Huldah went out to do the errands; and on the days when the poor child had to go to Belmouth to deliver her work, or get more raffia, Aunt Emma had always a very bad turn, and an attack of melancholy.

It was quite pathetic to see the way she clung to the little waif she had treated so cruelly when she had her in her power.  She wanted no one but Huldah now, and she wanted her always.  She loved her brightness and cheerfulness.  When Huldah laughed and sang she was quite content, but the moment she was sad or quiet, Aunt Emma would grow peevish and uneasy.

“You’m fretting because you’ve got to stay here with me, I know.  You’m longing to be back with that Mrs. Perry.  I know it’s ’ard to ’ave to live with a poor miserable creature like me, and I wonder you can bear it as well as you do.”