In the meantime let us go back to Nelly Connor, and see how _she_
spent her Sunday afternoon.

When she had wistfully watched the last of the groups of children
disappearing in the distance, she walked slowly away toward her
"home"--a dilapidated-looking cottage in a potato patch, enclosed by a
broken-down fence, patched up by Nelly and her new mother with old
barrel-staves and branches of trees. The outdoor work which fell to
her lot Nelly did not so much dislike. It was the nursing of a
screaming baby, or scrubbing dingy, broken boards--work often imposed
upon her--which sorely tried her childish strength and patience.

Nelly found the house deserted. Sunday being Mrs. Connor's idle day,
she usually went to visit some of her friends in the village, taking
her children with her. A piece of bread and a mug of sour milk on the
table were all that betokened any preparation for Nelly's supper; but
she was glad enough to miss the harsh scolding tones that were her
usual welcome home.

Nelly sat down on the doorstep to eat her crust, watching, as she did
so, a little bird which was bringing their evening meal to its
chirping little ones in a straggling old plum-tree near the house. For
in animal life there is no such discord as sin introduces into human
life, marring the beauty of God's arrangements for His creatures'
happiness. Then, having nothing to keep her at home, she took up her
dingy, tattered straw hat, and strolled slowly along towards the
village, keeping to the shady lanes on its outskirts till she came out
upon the fields across which Bessie had taken her way home.

On her way she passed Mr. Raymond's pretty shrubbery, and stood for a