work. On the entrance of a stranger, she
looked up in surprise; and, when at the
door, to point out the turn down to Widow
Johnson's, she remained there, with her work
on her arm, to watch the lady up the street.
The doctor, quickening his pace, came up,
saying,

"Who was that you were speaking to?
A lady wanting Widow Johnson! What a
very extraordinary thing! Did you tell her
the fever had got there?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What did she say?"

"She said she must go and nurse them."

"Do you mean that she is going to stay
here?"

"I suppose so, by her talking of nursing
them. She says Widow Johnson is her aunt."

"O! that's it! I have heard that Mrs.
Johnson came of a good family. But what a
good creature this must be—that is, if she
knows what she is about. If she is off before
morning, I shall think it was a vision, dropped
down out of the clouds. Eh?"

"She is not handsome enough to be an angel,
or anything of that kind," said the baker's wife.

"O! isn't she? I did not see her face. But
it is all the better, if she is not very like an
angel. She is all the more likely to stay and
nurse the Johnsons. Upon my word, they
are lucky people if she does. I must go and
pay my respects to her presently.—Do look
now— at the doors all along the street, on both
sides the way! I have not seen so many people
at once for weeks past;—for, you know, I
have no time to go to church in these days."

"You would not see many people, if you
went. See! some of the children are following
her! It is long since they have seen a young
lady, in a white gown, and with a smile on
her face, in our street. There she goes, past
the corner; she has taken the right turn."

"I will just let her get the meeting over,
and settle herself a little," said the doctor;
"and then I will go and pay my respects to
her."

The little rabble of dirty children followed
Mary round the corner, keeping in the middle
of the lane, and at some distance behind.
When she turned to speak to them, they
started and fled, as they might have done, if
she had been a ghost. But when she laughed,
they returned cautiously; and all their brown
forefingers pointed the same way at once,
when she made her final inquiry about which
was the cottage she wanted. Two little boys
were pushed forward by the rest; and it
transpired that these were grandchildren of
Widow Johnson.

"Is she your granny? " said Mary. " Then,
I am your cousin. Come with me; and if
granny is very much surprised to see me, you
must tell her that I am your cousin Mary."

The boys, however, had no notion of                                                                             entering the cottage. They slipped away, and                                                                  hid themselves behind it; and Mary had to                                                                     introduce herself.

After knocking in vain for some time, she
opened the door, and looked in. No one was
in the room but a man, whom she at once
recognised for Silly Jem. He was half-standing,                                                             half-sitting, against the table by the wall,
rolling his head from side to side. By no
mode of questioning could Mary obtain a word
from him. The only thing he did was to
throw a great log of wood on the fire, when
she observed what a large fire he had. She
tried to take it off again; but this he would
not permit. The room was insufferably hot
and close. The only window was beside the
door; so that there was no way of bringing a
current of fresh air through the room. Mary
tried to open the window; but it was not
made to open, except that a small pane at the
top, three inches square, went upon hinges.
As soon as Mary had opened it, however,
poor Jem went and shut it. Within this
kitchen, was a sort of closet for stores; and
this was the whole of the lower floor. Mary
opened one other door, and found within it a
steep, narrow stair, down which came a                                                                        sickening puff of hot, foul air. She went up                                                                 softly, and Jem slammed the door behind her.                                                                   It seemed as if it was the business of his life to
shut everything.

Groping her way, Mary came to a small
chamber, which she surveyed for an instant
from the stair, before showing herself within.
There was no ceiling; and long cobwebs
hung from the rafters. A small window, two
feet from the floor, and curtained with a
yellow and tattered piece of muslin, was the
only break in the wall. On the deal table
stood a phial or two, and a green bottle, which
was presently found to contain rum. A
turn-up bedstead, raised only a foot from the
floor, was in a corner; and on it lay some
one who was very restless, feebly throwing off
the rug, which was immediately replaced by
a sleepy woman who dozed between times in
a chair that boasted a patchwork cushion.
Mary doubted whether the large black eyes
which stared forth from the pillow had any
sense in them. She went to see.

"Aunty," said she, going to the bed, and
gently taking one of the wasted hands that
lay outside. " I am come to nurse you."

The poor patient made a strong effort to
collect herself, and to speak. She did not
want anybody. She should do very well.
This was no place for strangers. She was
too ill to see strangers, and so on; but, from
time to time, a few wandering words about
her knowing best how to choose a husband
for herself—her having a right to marry as
she pleased—- or of insisting that her relations
would go their own way in the world, and
leave her hers—showed Mary that she was
recognised, and what feelings she had to deal
with.

"She knows where I came from; but she
takes me for my mother or my grandmother,"
thought she. " If she grows clear in mind, we
shall be friends on our own account. If she