In the evening they sat in the library sewing, or
Mrs. Barfield read aloud, or they talked of their sons. On Sundays they
had their meetings. The folk came from quite a distance, and sometimes as
many as five-and-twenty knelt round the deal table in the drawing room,
and Esther felt that these days were the happiest of her life. She was
content in the peaceful present, and she knew that Mrs. Barfield would not
leave her unprovided for. She was almost free from anxiety. But Jack did
not seem to be able to obtain regular employment in London, and her wages
were so small that she could not help him much. So the sight of his
handwriting made her tremble, and she sometimes did not show the letter to
Mrs. Barfield for some hours after.
One Sunday morning, after meeting, as the two women were going for their
walk up the hill, Esther said--
"I've a letter from my boy, ma'am. I hope it is to tell me that he's got
back to work."
"I'm afraid I shan't be able to read it, Esther. I haven't my glasses with
me."
"It don't matter, ma'am--it'll keep."
"Give it to me--his writing is large and legible. I think I can read it.
'My dear mother, the place I told you of in my last letter was given away,
so I must go on in the toy-shop till something better turns up. I only get
six shillings a week and my tea, and can't quite manage on that.
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