“I know,” he said in a tone that warmed her heart, “I know, but we are going to try, and make life easier for you now, and you must feel that this is home and we are friends.”

“I do!” and Christie flushed with grateful feeling and a little shame, as she went in, thinking to herself:  “How silly I was to say that!  I may have spoilt the simple friendliness that was so pleasant, and have made him think me a foolish stuck-up old creature.”

Whatever he might have thought, David’s manner was unchanged when he came in and found her busy with the table.

“It’s pleasant to see thee resting, mother, and every thing going on so well,” he said, glancing about the room, where the old lady sat, and nodding toward the kitchen, where Christie was toasting bread in her neatest manner.

“Yes, Davy, it was about time I had a helper for thy sake, at least; and this is a great improvement upon heedless Kitty, I am inclined to think.”

Mrs. Sterling dropped her voice over that last sentence; but Christie heard it, and was pleased.  A moment or two later, David came toward her with a glass in his hand, saying as if rather doubtful of his reception: 

“New milk is part of the cure:  will you try it?”

For the first time, Christie looked straight up in the honest eyes that seemed to demand honesty in others, and took the glass, answering heartily: 

“Yes, thank you; I drink good health to you, and better manners to me.”

The newly lighted lamp shone full in her face, and though it was neither young nor blooming, it showed something better than youth and bloom to one who could read the subtle language of character as David could.  He nodded as he took the glass, and went away saying quietly: 

“We are plain people here, and you won’t find it hard to get on with us, I think.”

But he liked the candid look, and thought about it, as he chopped kindlings, whistling with a vigor which caused Christie to smile as she strained the milk.

After tea a spider-legged table was drawn out toward the hearth, where an open fire burned cheerily, and puss purred on the rug, with Bran near by.  David unfolded his newspapers, Mrs. Sterling pinned on her knitting-sheath, and Christie sat a moment enjoying the comfortable little scene.  She sighed without knowing it, and Mrs. Sterling asked quickly:  “Is thee tired, my dear?” “Oh, no! only happy.”

“I am glad of that:  I was afraid thee would find it dull.”

“It’s beautiful!” then Christie checked herself feeling that these outbursts would not suit such quiet people; and, half ashamed of showing how much she felt, she added soberly, “If you will give me something to do I shall be quite contented.”

“Sewing is not good for thee.  If thee likes to knit I’ll set up a sock for thee to-morrow,” said the old lady well pleased at the industrious turn of her new handmaid.

“I like to darn, and I see some to be done in this basket.  May I do it?” and Christie laid hold of the weekly job which even the best housewives are apt to set aside for pleasanter tasks.