Year: 1877

"But just let me stay until morning.
maam. 1t is cold, dreary and dark
along the road, and. indade, I've no place
to go to but widow Yarrow's and that's
miles away"


So spoke sad. worn.looking woman
standing on the threshold of a well-to do
farmers house, just as the last rays of
light were fading from the evening sky


The person she spoke to, a large woman
in a bright lowered dress and white
apron-the mistress Of the house turned
away pettishly.


You came at night, Maggie, it seems
to me, and you can go at night. You
don't suit / never saw such shiftless
ways in my life. And Jane Smith is
here, and I've only one bed for servants.
and | can't expect tidy girl like Jane
to sleep with-well, with strangers. I've
paid you for your three days, and good
ness knows you've worried me out Of my
senses since you've been here, and can't
keep you another night, and the earlier
you 60, the sooner you'll get there, wher-
ever ii is.


"Well, that's true, anyway. Then,
ma'am," replied the woman, "and you are
mistress in your own house; but God
knows it's not a dog Id be drivin' out at
night" Then she tied her little pittance
in the corner of her pocket handkerchief
and walked away out of the gate and up
the road. not looking back once. Her
heart was heavy as lead, and she was an
CRY at a world that had been very hard
one to her.


Three years since Pat wint away"
she said to herself, "and niver a word
from him. He's dead, no doubt; and
it's the last kind word I've heard ]
wasn't shiftless and good tor nothing to
him. Maggie, he'd often say, I'D
change you for nobody's wife Och. he
was the man. and so good to me when
was faded and worn out with the hard
livin' and losing the childer. as he was
when was a purity girl, with cheeks like
roses. an he was boy coortin' me. Och.
Pat, where did you go, at all2 You died
in ditch like a dog, may be; for all
these hard-hearted gentlefolks care, we
all might"


the house she had just left, only bit OF
the roof visible over the rising ground
| now.


MY heart was aching for the childer
and for Pat" she said, "but you could
have no patience If pertatie was burnt.
or a towel not that smooth. Ye sent me
out with the night falling. Bad luck to
ye and all yer like"


Then she plodded on again; but the
woman she had left was not as she had
fancied her. In her thrift and tidness
she could not understand this untidy
careless being. She knew nothing Of the
misery at her heart, or the sorrow that
made her forget the pots and pail. She
was actually half afraid of her and anx
ious to get her out of the house. She
had felt 1T great mistake to hire a tramp
from the road, as it were, and she had
paid her and felt conscious of no cruelty


The daylight fled apace; the moon
risen long ago. became visible--a fain
streak of new moon that set in litil,
while-only the stars were left-anC
Maggie, wandering on the road with be-
bundle under her arm-a bundle of rag
and odds and ends tumbled together il
an old flannel petticost-began to lost
her knowledge Of it. Here and ther'
she saw lights in a window, but they wer
no promise Of hospitality to her. If sb
could get to widow Yarrow's that person
. age, who took the laborers to board
would let her lodge while she could pay
. but where was the widows COTTAGE
the right or to the left2 She could no
tell in the darkness whether she had ts
ken the proper turning. Hard by was


rushing sound, as of water. DANCE
there, perhaps. The railroad was some