aged look peculiar to women who have the burdens of life too soon and
too heavily laid upon them. Her black hair was even streaked here and
there with gray. But with all this there was not the least trace of
impatience or despondency in that all-enduring face. When grave, its
expression was that of resignation; when gay--and even she could be gay
at times--its smile was as sunny as Leonora's own. Hannah had a lover as
patient as Job, or as herself, a poor fellow who had been constant to
her for twelve years, and whose fate resembled her own; for he was the
father of all his orphan brothers and sisters as she had been the mother
of hers. Of course, these poor lovers could not dream of marriage; but
they loved each other all the better upon that very account, perhaps.

Lenora was ten years younger than her sister, eighteen, well grown, well
developed, blooming, beautiful, gay and happy as we have described her.
She had not a care, or regret, or sorrow in the world. She was a bird,
the hut was her nest and Hannah her mother, whose wings covered her.
These sisters were very poor; not, however, as the phrase is understood
in the large cities, where, notwithstanding the many charitable
institutions for the mitigation of poverty, scores of people perish
annually from cold and hunger; but as it is understood in the rich lower
counties of Maryland, where forests filled with game and rivers swarming
with fish afford abundance of food and fuel to even the poorest hutters,
however destitute they might be of proper shelter, clothing, or
education.

And though these orphan sisters could not hunt or fish, they could buy
cheaply a plenty of game from the negroes who did. And besides this,
they had a pig, a cow, and a couple of sheep that grazed freely in the
neighboring fields, for no one thought of turning out an animal that
belonged to these poor girls. In addition, they kept a few fowls and