There was reason in that, but still it didn’t satisfy.  The day following the day of death was made the day of burial.  A few neighbors were at the miserable hovel, but none followed dead cart as it bore the unhonored remains to its pauper grave.  Farmer Jones, after the coffin was taken out, placed John in his wagon and drove away, satisfied that he had done his part.  Mrs. Ellis spoke to Kate with a hurried air, “Bid your sister good by,” and drew the tearful children apart ere scarcely their lips had touched in a sobbing farewell.  Hastily others went out, some glancing at Maggie, and some resolutely refraining from a look, until all had gone.  She was alone!  Just beyond the threshold Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, paused, and said to the blacksmith’s wife, who was hastening off with the rest,—­

“It’s a cruel thing to leave her so.”

“Then take her to the poorhouse:  she’ll have to go there,” answered the blacksmith’s wife, springing away, and leaving Joe behind.

For a little while the man stood with a puzzled air; then he turned back, and went into the hovel again.  Maggie with painful effort, had raised herself to an upright position and was sitting on the bed, straining her eyes upon the door out of which all had just departed, A vague terror had come into her thin white face.

“O, Mr. Thompson!” she cried out, catching her suspended breath, “don’t leave me here all alone!”

Though rough in exterior, Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, had a heart, and it was very tender in some places.  He liked children, and was pleased to have them come to his shop, where sleds and wagons were made or mended for the village lads without a draft on their hoarded sixpences.

“No, dear,” he answered, in a kind voice, going to the bed, and stooping down over the child, “You sha’n’t be left here alone.”  Then he wrapped her with the gentleness almost of a woman, in the clean bedclothes which some neighbor had brought; and, lifting her in his strong arms, bore her out into the air and across the field that lay between the hovel and his home.

Now, Joe Thompson’s wife, who happened to be childless, was not a woman of saintly temper, nor much given to self-denial for others’ good, and Joe had well-grounded doubts touching the manner of greeting he should receive on his arrival.  Mrs. Thompson saw him approaching from the window, and with ruffling feathers met him a few paces from the door, as he opened the garden gate, and came in.  He bore a precious burden, and he felt it to be so.  As his arms held the sick child to his breast, a sphere of tenderness went out from her, and penetrated his feelings.  A bond had already corded itself around them both, and love was springing into life.

“What have you there?” sharply questioned Mrs. Thompson.

Joe, felt the child start and shrink against him.  He did not reply, except by a look that was pleading and cautionary, that said, “Wait a moment for explanations, and be gentle;” and, passing in, carried Maggie to the small chamber on the first floor, and laid her on a bed.  Then, stepping back, he shut the door, and stood face to face with his vinegar-tempered wife in the passage-way outside.