ensued, during which an ulcer was broken, and she knew that she was
dying. Beckoning Mary to her side, she whispered, "I am leaving you
alone, in the wide world. Be kind to Ella, and our dear little Allie,
and go with her where she goes. May God keep and bless my precious
children,--and reward you as you deserve, my darling--"

The sentence was unfinished, and in unspeakable awe the orphan girl
knelt between her mother and brother, shuddering in the presence of
death, and then weeping to think she was alone.




CHAPTER III.

BILLY BENDER.


Just on the corner of Chicopee Common, and under the shadow of the
century-old elms which skirt the borders of the grass plat called by
the villagers the "Mall," stands the small red cottage of widow
Bender, who in her way was quite a curiosity. All the "ills which
flesh is heir to," seemed by some strange fatality to fall upon her,
and never did a new disease appear in any quarter of the globe, which
widow Bender, if by any means she could ascertain the symptoms, was
not sure to have it in its most aggravated form.

On the morning following the events narrated in the last chapter,
Billy, whose dreams had been disturbed by thoughts of Frank, arose
early, determined to call at Mrs. Howard's, and see if they were in