everywhere, like the good seed by the roadside, that she had rarely
wanted the bare necessaries of existence. And her humble manner, and
sweet, well-tuned voice, so free from the professional whine of
mendicancy, had usually its charm for the sternest. So she generally
obtained enough to buy bread and a night's lodging, and, if sometimes
she failed, she could bear hunger, and was not afraid of creeping into
some shed, or, when by the sea-shore, even into some sheltering cavern.
Her child throve too--for God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb! But
now, so far as physical privation went, the worst was over.

It so happened that as Alice was drawing herself wearily along to the
entrance of the village which was to bound her day's journey, she was
met by a lady, past middle age, in whose countenance compassion was so
visible, that Alice would not beg, for she had a strange delicacy or
pride, or whatever it may be called, and rather begged of the stern than
of those who looked kindly at her--she did not like to lower herself in
the eyes of the last.

The lady stopped.

"My poor girl, where are you going?"

"Where God pleases, madam," said Alice.

"Humph! and is that your own child?--you are almost a child yourself."

"It is mine, madam," said Alice, gazing fondly at the infant; "it is my
all!"

The lady's voice faltered. "Are you married?" she asked.