"We don't keep a public-house."

"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and
it's a long way yet to G----."

"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the
house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must
give him a bed."

So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had
drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her, I did not hear, for
the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she
spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there
magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed
into one of kindly welcome, and she said:

"Yes, it's a long way to G----. I guess we can find a place for him.
Have you had any supper?"

I answered in the negative.

The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall,
placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher
of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had more
leisure for minute observation. There was a singular contrast
between the young girl I have mentioned and the other inmates of the
room; and yet, I could trace a strong likeness between the maiden
and the woman, whom I supposed to be her mother--browned and hard as
were the features of the latter.