“But it must have been this morning, I think,” said I.
He answered “No,” again; and this time my dear girl confidently answered “No,” too, and shook the lovely head which, with its blooming flowers against the golden hair, was like the very Spring. “Much you know of East winds, my ugly darling,” said I, kissing her in my admiration—I couldn't help it.
Well! It was only their love for me, I know very well, and it is a long time ago. I must write it, even if I rub it out again, because it gives me so much pleasure. They said there could be no East wind where Somebody was; they said that wherever Dame Durden went, there was sunshine and summer air.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Nurse and Patient.
I had not been at home again many days, when one evening I went up-stairs into my own room to take a peep over Charley's shoulder, and see how she was getting on with her copy-book. Writing was a trying business to Charley, who seemed to have no natural power over a pen, but in whose hand every pen appeared to become perversely animated, and to go wrong and crooked, and to stop, and splashy and sidle into corners, like a saddle-donkey. It was very odd, to see what old letters Charley's young hand made; they, so wrinkled, and shrivelled, and tottering; it, so plump and round. Yet Charley was uncommonly expert at other things, and had as nimble little fingers as I ever watched.
“Well, Charley,” said I, looking over a copy of the letter in which it was represented as square, triangular, pear-shaped, and collapsed in all kinds of ways, “we are improving. If we only get to make it round, we shall be perfect, Charley.”
Then I made one, and Charley made one, and the pen wouldn't join Charley's neatly, but twisted it up into a knot.
“Never mind, Charley. We shall do it in time.”
Charley laid down her pen, the copy being finished; opened and shut her cramped little hand; looked gravely at the page, half in pride and half in doubt; and got up, and dropped me a curtsey.
“Thank you, miss. If you please, miss, did you know a poor person of the name of Jenny?”
“A brickmaker's wife, Charley? Yes.”
“She came and spoke to me when I was out a little while ago, and said you knew her, miss. She asked me if I wasn't the young lady's little maid—meaning you for the young lady, miss—and I said yes, miss.”
“I thought she had left this neighbourhood altogether, Charley.”
“So she had, miss, but she's come back again to where she used to live—she and Liz. Did you know another poor person of the name of Liz, miss?”
“I think I do, Charley, though not by name.”
“That's what she said!” returned Charley. “They have both come back, miss, and have been tramping high and low.”
