CHAPTER LII.
A SUMMONS.
One hot Saturday afternoon, in the sleepiest time of the day, when nothing was doing; and nobody in the shop, except a poor boy who had come begging for some string to help him fly his kite, though for the last month wind had been more scarce than string, Jemima came in from Durnmelling, and, greeting Mary with the warmth of the friendship that had always been true between them, gave her a letter.
"Whom is this from ?" asked Mary, with the usual human waste of inquiry, seeing she held the surest answer in her hand.
"Mr.Mewks gave it me," said Jemima.

"He didn't say whom it was from." Mary made haste to open it: she had an instinctive distrust of everything that passed through Mewks's hands, and greatly feared that, much as his master trusted him, he was not true to him.

She found the following note from Mr.Redmain: "DEAR MISS MARSTON: Come and see me as soon as you can; I have something to talk to you about.

Send word by the bearer when I may look for you.

I am not well.
"Yours truly, "F.