passed in front of the door I heard moanings and cryings from a bench
against the side of the house, and stopped. It was dawn, and I could see
that it was either a small woman or a large child, huddled down on the
bench crying terribly, with those peculiar wrenching spasms that come
only when you have struggled long, and then quite given up to misery. I
went toward her, then stepped back, then drew closer, trying to decide
whether I should go away and leave her, or speak to her; and arguing
with myself as to what I could possibly say to her. She seemed to be
trying to choke down her weeping, burying her head in her hands, holding
back her sobs, wrestling with herself. Finally she fell forward on her
face upon the bench, her hands spread abroad and hanging down, her face
on the hard cold wood--and all her moanings ceased. It seemed to me that
she had suddenly dropped dead; for I could not hear from her a single
sigh or gasp or breath, though I stepped closer and listened--not a sign
of life did she give. So I put my arm under her and raised her up, only
to see that her face was ghastly white, and that she seemed quite dead.
I picked her up, and found that, though she was slight and girlish, she
was more woman than child, and carried her over to the well where there
was cold water in the trough, from which I sprinkled a few icy drops in
her face--and she gasped and looked at me as if dazed.

"You fainted away," I said, "and I brought you to."

"I wish you hadn't!" she cried. "I wish you had let me die!"

"What's the matter, little girl?" I asked, seating her on the bench once
more. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Oh! oh! oh! oh!" she cried, maybe a dozen times--and nothing more,
until finally she burst out: "She was all I had in the world. My God,