them to dinner, and give them a welcome reception for the
remainder of the day; while she, and those of her children who
were not at school, went to spend the day at her father's house,
several miles out of the town. Accordingly, no dinner was cooked
on Sundays for the young workwomen; no fires were lighted in any
rooms to which they had access. On this morning they breakfasted
in Mrs. Mason's own parlour, after which the room was closed
against them through the day by some understood, though unspoken
prohibition.

What became of such as Ruth, who had no home and no friends in
that large, populous, desolate town? She had hitherto
commissioned the servant, who went to market on Saturdays for the
family, to buy her a bun or biscuit, whereon she made her fasting
dinner in the deserted workroom, sitting in her walking-dress to
keep off the cold, which clung to her in spite of shawl and
bonnet. Then she would sit at the window, looking out on the
dreary prospect till her eyes were often blinded by tears; and,
partly to shake off thoughts and recollections, the indulgence in
which she felt to be productive of no good, and partly to have
some ideas to dwell upon during the coming week beyond those
suggested by the constant view of the same room she would carry
her Bible, and place herself upon the window-seat on the wide
landing, which commanded the street in front of the house. From
thence she could see the irregular grandeur of the place; she
caught a view of the grey church-tower, rising hoary and massive
into mid-air; she saw one or two figures loiter along on the
sunny side of the street, in all the enjoyment of their fine
clothes and Sunday leisure; and she imagined histories for them,
and tried to picture to herself their homes and their daily