came within sight of the ruins of a poor woman's house, which a few
months before this time had been burnt down. She recollected that her
first acquaintance with her lover began at the time of this fire; and she
thought that the courage and humanity he showed, in exerting himself to
save this unfortunate woman and her children, justified her notion of the
possibility that an Irishman might be a good man.

The name of the poor woman whose house had been burnt down was Smith: she
was a widow, and she now lived at the extremity of a narrow lane in a
wretched habitation. Why Phoebe thought of her with more concern than
usual at this instant we need not examine, but she did; and, reproaching
herself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved to go
directly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown which she had
long had in her pocket, with which she had intended to have bought play
tickets.

It happened that the first person she saw in the poor widow's kitchen was
the identical Mr. O'Neill. "I did not expect to see anybody here but
you, Mrs. Smith," said Phoebe, blushing.

"So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting; to me, I mean, Miss
Hill," said O'Neill, rising, and putting down a little boy, with whom he
had been playing. Phoebe went on talking to the poor woman; and, after
slipping the crown into her hand, said she would call again. O'Neill,
surprised at the change in her manner, followed her when she left the
house, and said, "It would be a great misfortune to me to have done
anything to offend Miss Hill, especially if I could not conceive how or
what it was, which is my case at this present speaking." And as the
spruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phoebe's ragged gloves. She
drew them up in vain; and then said, with her natural simplicity and