“O, ma’am, she has gone to school—only think of it, my poor little Nelly has gone to _school_! It does seem,” continued Mrs. White, resting her arms on the tub, and holding suspended by her two hands a well-patched shirt of the deacon’s, “it does seem as if the Lord had sent that Mrs. Norton here to be a blessing to the poor!”
“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Humphreys, spitefully rattling the dishes.
“Only think,” continued Mrs. White, “she has given up one whole room in her house to Miss Grace, who has been round and got all the children that can’t go to school because their parents are too poor to send them, and just teaches them herself for nothing! God bless her, I say!” exclaimed the washerwoman, strenuously, her tears mingling with the soap-suds into which she now plunged her two arms so vigorously as to dash the creaming foam to the ceiling.
Mrs. Humphreys was at once surprised and angry. She could not conceive why a lady like Mrs. Norton should do such a thing as to keep a ragged school, and that, too, without pay or profit. She had forgotten the words of our blessed Lord, “_Whoso shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth me_,” or, “_Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me._” Charity alone, she argued in her selfish nature, could not have influenced Mrs. Norton to put herself to so much trouble for a troop of noisy, dirty, half-clothed children! No, there must be some deeper motive—some sectarian object, perhaps, to be gained; and, impressed with this idea, she said tartly,
“I think it is a pretty piece of presumption in Mrs. Norton to come here and set herself up in this way, telling us as it were of our duty. She is a stranger, and what business is it of hers, I should like to know, whether the children go to school or not!”
“O, Mrs. Humphreys, indeed, I think the spirit of the Lord guides her!” said Mrs. White. “Miss Grace came and asked me so humbly like, if I would let her teach my Nelly, and then kissed the little fatherless child so, so—that—that—O, I could have worshiped her!” and fresh tears streamed down the cheeks of the washerwoman.
“Worship a fiddle-stick!” exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, out of all patience, “I know what she wants—an artful creature; yes, she wants to make Nelly go to her meeting!”