‘Mamma,’ she said very gently, ‘I’m sorry for being so cross.’

‘I am glad to hear you say so, Bride,’ said her mother.  She spoke very gravely, and at first Bridget felt a little disappointed.  But after a moment’s—­less than a moment’s—­hesitation, the fat little hand felt itself clasped and pressed with a kindly affection that, truth to tell, Biddy was scarcely accustomed to.  For there is no denying that she was a very trying and tiresome little girl.  And Mrs. Vane was quick and sensitive, and of late she had had much anxiety and strain, and she was not of a nature to take things calmly.  Rosalys was of a much more even and cheery temperament:  she ‘took after’ her father, as the country-people say.  It was not without putting some slight force on herself that Biddy’s mother pressed the little hand; and that she did so was in great part owing to a sudden remembrance of some words which Mrs. Fairchild had said during their few minutes’ conversation, which, as I told you, had been principally about Bridget.

‘Yes,’ Celestina’s mother had replied in answer to a remark of the rector’s wife, ’I can see that she must be a child who needs careful management.  Firmness of course—­but also the greatest, the very greatest gentleness, so as never to crush or repress any deeper feeling whenever it comes.’

And the words had stayed in Biddy’s mother’s mind.  Ah, children, how much we may do for good, and, alas, for bad, by our simplest words sometimes!

So in spite of still feeling irritated and sore against cross-grained Biddy, her mother crushed down her own vexation and met the child’s better mind more than half-way.

A queer feeling came over the little girl; a sort of choke in her throat, which she had never felt before.

‘If mamma was always like that how good I would be,’ thought Biddy, as she walked on quietly, her hand still on her mother’s arm.

Suddenly she withdrew it with a little cry, and ran on a few steps.  Some way before them a small figure stood out dark against the sky, from time to time stooping as if picking up something.  Bridget had excellent eyes when she chose to use them.

‘It’s Celestina, mamma,’ she exclaimed, running back to her mother and Alie.  ’Mayn’t I go and speak to her?  She’s all alone.  Come, Smuttie—­it’ll be a nice run for you.  I may, mayn’t I, mamma?’

‘Very well,’ said her mother, and almost before she said the words Biddy was off.

‘She must be a nice little girl,’ said Mrs. Vane; ’her mother seems such a sweet woman.  But, Alie, did you ever see anything like Bride’s changeableness?’ and she gave a little sigh.

’But, mamma dear, she did say she was sorry very nicely this time—­very real-ly,’ said Rosalys.

‘Yes, darling,’ her mother agreed.

A minute or two brought them up to where the two children were standing talking together, greatly to Bridget’s satisfaction, though Celestina looked very quiet and almost grave.