sen, 'There's a lass 'at's seed trouble.' It wur in her eye—she had a soft loike brown eye, Mester-an' it wur in her voice-her voice wur soft loike, too-I sometimes thowt it wur plain to be seed even i' her dress. If she'd been born a lady, she'd ha' been one o' th' foine soart, an' as she'd been born a factory-lass she wur one o' th' foine soart still. So I took to watchin' her an' tryin' to mak' friends wi' her, but I never had much luck wi' her till one neet I was goin' home through th' snow, and I seed her afore fighten' th' drift wi' nowt but a thin shawl over her head; so I goes up behind her an' I says to her, steady and respectful, so as she would na be feart, I says:

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Lass, let me see thee home. It's bad weather fur thee to be out in by thysen. Tak' my coat, an' wrop thee up in it, an' tak' hold o' my arm an' let me help thee along.'

"She looks up rig t straight forrad i' my face wi' her brown eyes, an' I tell yo, Mester, I wur glad I wur an honest man 'stead o'a rascal, fur them quiet eyes 'ud ha fun me out before I'd ha' done sayin' my say if I'd meant harm.

"Thaank yo kindly, Mester Hibblethwaite,' she says, 'but dunnot tak' off tha' coat fur me; I'm doin' pretty nicely. It is Mester Hibblethwaite, beant it?'

"Aye, lass,' I answers, 'it's him. Mought I ax yo're name?'

"Aye, to be sure,' said she. My name's Rosanna'Sanna Brent th' folk at th' mill allus ca's me. I work at th' loom i' th' next room to thine. I've seed thee often an' often.'

"So we walks home to her lodgings, an' on th' way we talks together friendly an' quiet loike, an' th' more we talks th' more I sees she's had trouble, an' by an' by

bein' on'y common workin' folk, we're straightforrad to each other in our plain way-it comes out what her trouble has been.

"Yo p'raps wouldn't think I've been a married woman, Mester,' she says; 'but I ha', an' I wedded an' rued. I married a sojer when I wur a giddy young wench, four years ago, an' it wur th' worst thing as ever I did i' aw my days. He wur one o' yo're handsome fastish chaps, an' he tired o' me as men o' his stripe allers Но do tire o' poor lasses, an' then he ill-treated me. went to th' Crimea after we'd been wed a year, an' left me to shift fur mysen. An' I heard six month after he wur dead. He'd never writ back to me nor sent me no help, but I couldna think he wur dead till th' letter comn. He wur killed th' first month he wur out fightin' th' Rooshians. Poor fellow! Poor Phil! Th' Lord ha mercy on him!'

"That wur how I found out about her trouble, an' somehow it seemed to draw me to her, an' make me feel kindly to'ards her. 'T wur so pitiful to hear her talk about th' rascal, so sorrowful, an' gentle, an' not gi' him a real hard word for a' he'd done. She wurna more than twenty-two then, an' she must ha been nowt but a slip o' a lass when they wur wed.

"Rosanna Brent an' me got to be good friends, an' we walked home together o' nights, an' talked about our bits o' wage, an' our bits o' debt, an' th' way that wench 'ud keep me up i' spirits when I wur a bit down-hearted about owt, wur just a wonder. An' bein' as th' lass wur so dear to me, I made up my mind to ax her to be summat dearer. So once goin' home along wi' her, I takes hold o' her hand an' lifts it up an' kisses it gentle-as gentle an' wi' summat th' same feelin' as I'd kiss th' Good Book.

""'Sanna,' I says; 'bein' as yo've had so much trouble wi' yo're first chance, would yo' be afeard to try a second? Could yo' trust a mon again? Such a mon as me, 'Sanna?'

"I wouldna be feart to trust thee, Tim,' she answers back, soft an' gentle after a manner. 'I wouldna be feart to trust thee any time.'

"I kisses her hand again, gentler still.

"God bless thee, lass,' I says. Does that mean yes?'

"She crept up closer to me i' her sweet, quiet way. "Aye, lad,' she answers. 'It means yes, an' I'll bide by it.'

"An' tha shalt never rue it, lass,' said I. 'Tha's gi'en thy life to me, an' I'll gi' mine to thee, sure and true.'

"So we wur axed i' th' church t' next Sunday, an' a month fra then we were wed, an' if ever God's sun shone on a happy mon, it shone on one that day, when we come out o' church together-me and Rosanna-an' went to our bit o' a home to begin life again. I couldna tell thee, Mester-theer beant no words to tell how happy an' peaceful we lived fur two year after that. My lass never altered her sweet ways, an' I just loved her to make up to her fur what had gone by. I thanked God-a'-moighty fur His blessing every day, an' every day I prayed to be made worthy of it. An' here's just wheer I'd like to ax a question, Mester, about summat 'ats worretted me a good deal. I dunnot want to question th' Maker, but I would like to know how it is 'at sometime it seems 'at we're clean forgot-as if He couldna fash hissen about our troubles, an' most loike left 'em to work out theirsens Yo see, Mester, an' we aw see sometime He thinks on us an' gi's us a lift, but hasna tha thysen seen times when

tha stopt short an' axed thysen, 'Wheer's 'God-a'moighty 'at he disna straighten things out a bit? Th' world's i' a power o' a snarl. Th' righteous is forsaken. 'n his seed's beggin' bread. An' th' devil's topmost again.' I've talked to my lass about it sometimes, an' I dunnot think I meant harm, Mester, for I felt humble enough—an' when I talked, my lass she'd listen an' smile soft an' sorrowful, but she never gi' me but one

answer.

"Tim,' she'd say, 'this is on'y th' skoo', an' we're th' scholars, an' He's teachin' us His way. Th' teacher wouldna be o' much use, Tim, if th' scholars knew as much as he did, an' I allers think it's th' best to comfort mysen wi' sayin', Th' Lord-a'-moighty, He knows.'

"At th' eend o' th' year th' child wur born, th' little lad here," touching the turf with his hand. "Wee Wattie,' his mother ca'd him, and he wur a fine lightsome little chap. He filled th' whole house wi' music day in an' day out, crowin' an' crowin'-an' cryin' too sometime.

"Well, Mester, before th' spring wur out Wee Wat was toddin' round holdin' to his mother's gown, an' by th' middle o' th' next he was cooin, like a dove, an' prattlin' words i' a voice like hers. Happen we set too much store by him, or happen it wur on'y th' Teacher again teachin' us His way, but hows'ever that wur, I came home one sunny mornin' fro' th' factory, an' my dear lass met me at th' door, all white an' cold, but tryin' hard to be brave an' help me to bear what she had to tell.

"Tim,' said she, 'th' Lord ha' sent us trouble; but we can bear it together, canna we, dear lad?'

"That wor aw, but I knew what it meant, though t' poor little lamb had been well enough when I kissed him last.

"I went in an' saw him lyin' theer on his pillows, strug. glin' an' gaspin' in hard convulsions, an' I seed aw was over. An' in half an hour, just as the sun crept across th' room an' touched his curls, th' pretty little chap opens his eyes aw at once.

"Daddy!' he crows out. Sithee Dad-!' an' he lifts hissen up, catches at th' floatin' sunshine, laughs at it, and fa's back-dead, Mester.

"I've allers thowt 'at th' Lord-a'-moighty knew what he wur doin' when he gi' th' woman t' Adam i' th' Garden o' Eden. He knowed he wor nowt but a poor chap as couldna do fur hissen; an' I suppose that's th' reason he gi' th' woman th' strength to bear trouble when it comn. I'd ha' gi'en clean in if it hadna been fur my lass when th' little chap deed.

"But the day comn when we could bear to talk about him and moind things he'd said an' tried to say i' his broken babby way. An' so we were creepin' back again to th' old happy quiet, an' we had been for welly six month, when summat fresh come. I'll never forget it, Mester, th' neet it happened. I'd kissed Rosanna at th' door an' left her standin' theer when I went up to th' village to buy summat she wanted. It wur a bright moonlight neet, just such a neet as this, an' th' lass had followed me out to see th' moonshine, it wur so bright an' clear; an' just before I starts she folds both her hands on my shoulder an' says, soft and thoughtful:

"Tim, I wonder if th' little chap sees us?'

"I'd loike to know, dear lass,' I answers back. An' then she speaks again:

"Tim, I wonder if he'd know he was ours if he could see, or if he'd ha' forgot? He wur such a little fellow.'

"Them wur th' last peaceful words I ever heerd her speak. I went up to th' village an' getten what she sent me fur, an' then I comn back.