not. And it is equally true that I dare not recommend you. If I could
find any thing else--not with children--something you really could do,
and which would take you away from this town--"

"I'd go any where----do any thing to get my bread, for it comes to that.
If I went home and told father this--if he found out why I had lost my
situation, he'd turn me out of doors. And except this check, which is
owed nearly all, I haven't one halfpenny--I really haven't. Mrs. Grey.
It's all very well for you to talk--you in your fine house and
comfortable clothes; but you don't know what it is to be shabby, cold,
miserable. You don't know what it is to be in dread of starving."

"I do," said Christian, solemnly. It was true.

The shudder which came over her at thought of these remembered days
obliterated every feeling about the girl except the desire to help her,
blameworthy though she was, in some way that could not possibly
injure any one else.

Suddenly she recollected that Mrs. Ferguson was in great need of some
one to take care of Mr. Ferguson's old blind mother, who lived forty
miles distant from Avonsbridge. If she spoke to her about Miss
Bennett, and explained, without any special particulars, that, though
unfit to be trusted with children, she might do well enough with an old
woman in a quiet village, Mrs. Ferguson, whose kind-heartedness was
endless, might send her there at once.

"Will you go? and I will tell nobody my reasons for dismissing you,"
said Christian, as earnestly as if she had been asking instead of
conferring a favor. Her kindness touched even that bold, hard nature.