But whilst this Sabbath morning hymn thus rises, betimes, to the throne of Him who sits beyond the sunbeams, tired man sleeps on.  The farmer’s household is still slumbering, and after a week of hard labour, taking an additional hour’s repose on that day which was graciously appointed as a day of rest.  Scarcely can the sun peep in through the drawn curtains and shutters of the windows, and no song of birds, or low of cows, seems as yet to have reached the closed ears of the sleepers.  Master and men alike obtain the bounteous gift of sleep so often denied to the less laborious rich.

We are wrong in supposing that all are slumbering in the farm-house.  Quietly the mistress steps out of the back door which she has noiselessly opened, as if afraid of disturbing her household.  As the brisk little figure moves across the farm-yard, it is instantly surrounded by a flock of poultry that seem intuitively to expect an alms at her hand, as do the poor Irish who haunt her dwelling.  But she has nothing to give them thus early in the morning, and scarcely heeds their cackling and crowing.  The fierce house-dog, however, will be noticed as bounding through the poultry, and knocking down one luckless hen, he jumps upon his mistress, and almost oversets her also.  The ’Down Lion, down,’ of the ‘gintle voice,’ serves only to make him more demonstrative, as he gambols roughly on her path as she proceeds towards the barn.

Mrs Prothero—­such is the name of our farm-lady—­had been haunted all night long by visions of the poor Irish girl.  She had not slept as soundly as the other members of her family, because there was a fellow-creature suffering within her little circle.  Although she had lived nearly fifty years in the world, and had been variously cheated and imposed upon by beggars of all kinds, her heart was still open to ‘melting charity,’ and liable to be again and again deceived.  As she stopped before the barn door with the key in her hand, Lion began a low growl.  He could never get over his antipathy to Irish beggars, and all his mistress’s influence was necessary to prevent the growl becoming a bark.  She put her ear to the door and listened, but no sound disturbed the stillness within.  She knocked gently, but there was no answer.  At last she thought she heard a feeble voice say something which she interpreted into ‘Come in,’ and she turned the key in the lock of the door and opened the top half of it.  She looked in, and saw all her mendicant guests in profound repose, excepting the girl Gladys, who endeavoured to rise as she perceived the kindly face, but fell back again immediately.  She unclosed the other half of the door, and carefully excluding Lion, by shutting it after her, walked softly across the barn to the rough couch on which Gladys lay.  She appeared to be in the same state of exhaustion as on the previous night; and if she had noticed Mrs Prothero at all, the transient effort was over, and she remained with closed eyes and listless form, whilst the good woman looked at her and felt her pulse.  Then her lips moved slightly, as if wishing to say something, but emitted no sound.  What was to be done for one in such a helpless state?  Mrs Prothero’s kind heart sank within her.