and brother were lying. By this time Alice was asleep, and though the
little arms which held her ached sadly, there was no complaint, but
she wished Mr. Knight would speak to her once, if it were only to ask
her how she did!

At last, concluding there would be no impropriety in making the first
advances herself, she said timidly, "Is it such a very bad place at
the poor-house?"

"Why, no, not so dreadful. There's places enough, sight worse, and
then agin there's them, a good deal better But you needn't be afeard.
They'll take good care of you."

"I wasn't thinking of myself," said Mary.

"Who was you thinkin' of, then?"

"Of Alice; she's always been sick and is not used to strangers, and
among so many I am afraid she will be frightened."

"Oh, she'll soon get used to 'em. Nothin' like, habit. Weakly, is she?
Wall, the poor-house ain't much of a place to get well in, that's a
fact. But she'd be better off to die and go to her mother, and then
you could get a good place at some farmer's."

Mary wondered how he could speak thus carelessly of what would cause
her so much sorrow. Gently lifting the old faded shawl, she looked
down upon Alice as she slept. There was a smile upon her face. She was
dreaming, and as her lips moved, Mary caught the word, "Ma," which the
child had applied indiscriminately both to herself and her mother.