She forced herself to tidy the Squire's table, and to write a business letter or two.

But when that was done she dropped her face in her hands, and shed a few very bitter tears.
She seemed to herself to have failed miserably.

In truth, her heart clung to all these people.

She soon attached herself to those with whom she lived, and was but little critical of them.

The warm, maternal temper which went with her shrewd brain seemed to need perpetually objects on which to spend itself.