Malcolm was very unreserved about his mother. "She is perfectly
unique," he said; "a grand worker, with brains and energy that, if
she had been a man, would have qualified her for a legislator. She
has a gift for organisation. Oh, you would admire her immensely. You
are a worker yourself, Miss Templeton, and that would be a bond of
union."
"Would it?" she returned quietly. "I am not quite so sure of that. I
think your mother would rather look down on my small efforts. Please
do not call me a worker, Mr. Herrick. I potter about the village two
days in the week, and teach the children needlework, and tell them
stories, and read to a bedridden old woman or two, but I am afraid
on the whole I waste my time dreadfully," and here she looked at him
with one of her beaming smiles. "I do so enjoy my life, especially
in summer--the world is so beautiful, and one has the birds and
flowers, and it is just lovely to wake to another new day."
"I wish Anna could hear you," he returned; and as she looked a
little puzzled at this, he explained that his mother had an adopted
daughter--a dear, lovable girl, whom he regarded as a sister.
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