"You may stop with us, and welcome," said Mrs. Lindsay, "till ye can hear from your friends, or for all your life, if it would be agreeable to yoursel'."
"If I had only been a little older," said Amy, "I might have been of some use. I could have done something, but I can do nothing."
"Oh, but you can learn," said Mrs. Lindsay. "Rome was not built in a day. No doubt in time you may come to be as handy as our Jessie."
Amy looked at the large, pleasant young woman of twenty-three, who, with an apron on, and her sleeves tucked up to her elbows, was busily engaged in making up bread—thing too important to be trusted to Judy—with her fair hair tanned and her comely features freckled by exposure to all sorts of weathers under an Australian sun, and she wondered if she ever could by Mrs. Lindsay's training grow to resemble her. It was so different a prospect from all that the author's daughter had thought of becoming, that what was meant for encouragement only saddened her. What would her papa have thought of her being domesticated with such a household
Allan had more observation than his mother, and understood more of Amy's feelings. He led her out of the house to have a look at the weather, which had changed from extreme heat
