"Uncle William," himself cowed and subdued, stood first. Sometimes, when
the lady of the house became unbearable, and poor Eily's head ached with
all the tears she shed, he would take her in the cool of the evening
away to a large green park, where the wind blew fresh, the dew sparkled
on the grass, and the noisy traffic of the streets was still; there she
would rest her weary body, while the old man soothed her gently and
stroked her poor hands, all chapped and red with hard work.
Eily's other friend was a lady who occupied a single top room in her
aunt's tall house. She was a gentle, white-haired woman, with faded blue
eyes and a sweet smile. She had won Eily's heart from the first by the
soft, kindly tones of her voice, and the consideration she showed for
the severely-tried feet of the little Irish maid. Mrs. Grey taught
drawing and painting; her pupils were few, her terms low; it was a
difficult matter to make both ends meet, but she managed it by careful
contriving, and sometimes had enough to treat her waiting-maid to a
morsel of something savoury cooked on her own little stove.
* * * * *
It was May. Eily was standing at the window while Mrs. Murphy went forth
on a bargain-hunting expedition.
"Eily, come upstairs, child; I have something to show you." Mrs. Grey
was in the room, looking flushed and excited; she was flourishing a book
in her hand.
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