'Why Mrs. Phillips?'

'The boy marm, may not be yours, but it is her _kin_ and she ought to
know her duty to a sister's child.'

'Yes, but she might bring the disease to my little children!
she'--'That's in the hands of Providence, marm.'

I ram a handkerchief down my mouth and choke--

'Well, as it is not your fault I need not speak to you--but please be so
kind as to call Thomas, I only want him for a moment.' The celebrated
Mrs. Phillips heaved a sigh, pregnant with bread, butter, cold meat and
ale; and slid out of the room, crunching her way down stairs. I peeped
at my sister--she looked pale and very anxiously perplexed, I pinched
myself and kept silent. In a few minutes a voice was heard singing up
the back stairs and--enter Sabina spread out with starch and heavily
pomaded hair. 'Mrs. Phillips sent me to tell you marm that she had to
make her gruel and the fire was low--and that Thomas had gone home.'

'Why, what time is it, Sabina?'

'_Eight_ o'clock,' I enunciate distinctly. For one moment Mary's eyes
lit up with something like heroism, but before she could frame a
sentence, the playful want of interest exhibited by Sabina, who leaned
against the mantel-piece, straightening her cuffs, did the business, and
she collapsed.

'Please tell Thomas, when he comes to-morrow, Sabina, I would rather not
have him go home quite as early, because you see,' (oh how I mentally