pipe when you have
turned the corner into the village, so you need only stop till then,
Philip."

"I shall stop for all day," said Philip: "I've no wish to play any
more."

"Good-by, poor Susan! It is a pity you can't come with us," said all
the children.

Little Mary ran after Susan to the cottage door. "I forgot to thank
you," she said, "for the cowslips. Look how pretty they are, and smell
how sweet the violets are that I wear, and kiss me quick or I shall be
left behind."

Susan kissed the little breathless girl, and returned softly to the
side of her mother's bed. "How grateful that child is to me for a
cowslip only! How can I be grateful enough to such a mother as this?"
she said to herself, as she bent over the pale face of her sleeping
mother.

Her mother's unfinished knitting lay upon a table near the bed, and
Susan sat down in her wicker armchair, and went on with the row, in
the middle of which Mrs. Price had stopped the evening before. "She
taught me to knit, she taught me everything that I know," thought
Susan, "and best of all, she taught me to love her, to wish to be like
her." Mrs. Price, when she awoke, felt much better, but slowly there
came back to her memory the sad news she had heard the evening before.
She asked herself if it could have been a dream, but no, it was all
too true. She could recall her husband's look as he had said, "I must
leave you in three days." Then suddenly she roused herself. "Why!
he'll want, he'll want a hundred things," she said. "I must get his
linen ready for him. I'm afraid it's very late. Susan, why did you let
me sleep so long?"

"Everything shall be ready, dear mother; only don't hurry," said
Susan. And indeed her mother was not able to bear any hurry, or to do
any work that day. Susan's loving help was never more wanted. She
understood so well, she obeyed so exactly, and when she was left to
herself, judged so wisely, that her mother had little trouble in
directing her. She said that Susan never did too little or too much.

Susan was mending her father's linen, when Rose tapped softly at the
window, and beckoned to her to come out. She went.

"How is your mother, in the first place?" said Rose.

"Better, thank you."

"That is nice, and I have a little bit of good news for you
besides--here," she said, pulling out a purse, in which there was
money. "We'll get the guinea-hen back again--we have all agreed about
it. This is the money that has been given t