A half open closet-door gave her glimpses of little frocks and jackets, stubby little shoes, and go-to-meeting hats all in a row.  From below came up the sound of childish voices chattering, childish feet trotting to and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetly through the Sabbath stillness of the place.  From a room near by, came the soothing creak of a rocking-chair, the rustle of a newspaper, and now and then a scrap of conversation common-place enough, but pleasant to hear, because so full of domestic love and confidence; and, as she listened, Christie pictured Mrs. Wilkins and her husband taking their rest together after the week’s hard work was done.

“I wish I could stay here; it’s so comfortable and home-like.  I wonder if they wouldn’t let me have this room, and help me to find some better work than sewing?  I’ll get up and ask them,” thought Christie, feeling an irresistible desire to stay, and strong repugnance to returning to the room she had left, for, as Rachel truly said, it was haunted for her.

When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins bounced out of her rocking-chair and hurried to meet her with a smiling face, saying all in one breath: 

“Good mornin’, dear!  Rested well, I hope?  I’m proper glad to hear it.  Now come right down and have your dinner.  I kep it hot, for I couldn’t bear to wake you up, you was sleepin’ so beautiful.”

“I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like a new creature.  It was so kind of you to take me in, and I’m so grateful I don’t know how to show it,” said Christie, warmly, as her hostess ponderously descended the complaining stairs and ushered her into the tidy kitchen from which tubs and flat-irons were banished one day in the week.

“Lawful sakes, the’ ain’t nothing to be grateful for, child, and you’re heartily welcome to the little I done.  We are country folks in our ways, though we be livin’ in the city, and we have a reg’lar country dinner Sundays.  Hope you’ll relish it; my vittles is clean ef they ain’t rich.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Wilkins dished up baked beans, Indian-pudding, and brown bread enough for half a dozen.  Christie was hungry now, and ate with an appetite that delighted the good lady who vibrated between her guest and her children, shut up in the “settin’-room.”

“Now please let me tell you all about myself, for I am afraid you think me something better than I am.  If I ask help from you, it is right that you should know whom you are helping,” said Christie, when the table was cleared and her hostess came and sat down beside her.

“Yes, my dear, free your mind, and then we’ll fix things up right smart.  Nothin’ I like better, and Lisha says I have considerable of a knack that way,” replied Mrs. Wilkins, with a smile, a nod, and an air of interest most reassuring.

So Christie told her story, won to entire confidence by the sympathetic face opposite, and the motherly pats so gently given by the big, rough hand that often met her own.  When all was told, Christie said very earnestly: