"
So it was settled, and Lucy started in the pony-carriage, carrying
with her such things from the parsonage storehouse as were thought to
be suitable to the wants of the sick lady at Hogglestock. When she
arrived there, she made her way into the house, finding the door
open, and not being able to obtain the assistance of the servant
girl in ushering her in. In the parlour she found Grace Crawley,
the eldest child, sitting demurely in her mother's chair nursing an
infant. She, Grace herself, was still a young child, but not the
less, on this occasion of well-understood sorrow, did she go through
her task, not only with zeal but almost with solemnity. Her brother,
a boy of six years old, was with her, and he had the care of another
baby. There they sat in a cluster, quiet, grave, and silent,
attending on themselves, because it had been willed by fate that no
one else should attend on them. "How is your mamma, dear Grace?" said
Lucy, walking up to her, and holding out her hand.
"Poor mamma is very ill, indeed," said Grace.
"And papa is very unhappy," said Bobby, the boy.
"I can't get up because of baby," said Grace; "but Bobby can go and
call papa out."
"I will knock at the door," said Lucy; and so saying she walked up to
the bedroom door, and tapped against it lightly.
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