“I am sorry to find you so sick, and everything around you so cold and comfortless,” she said, addressing Mrs. Warburton.

“I don’t feel so very sick, ma’am, only when I try to sit up, I grow so faint, and have to lie down again.  If my little things had anything to eat, I wouldn’t mind it much.”

Just then, aroused by the voice of her mother, the little girl awoke, and began moaning and crying.  She could not speak plain, and her “bed and mik, mamma”—­“O, mamma, bed and mik,” thrilled every heart-string of Mrs.—­, who had never before in her life witnessed the keen distress of a mother while her child asked in vain for bread.  She drew the child out of bed, and kissing it, handed it to Sarah, whose feelings were also touched, and told her to take the little thing into her house, and give it to the nurse, with directions to feed it, and then come back.

By this time, John, rather more active than usual, had kindled a fire, the genial warmth of which began already to soften the keen air of the room.  Some warm drinks were prepared for Mrs. Warburton; and Mrs.—­had the satisfaction to see her, in the course of half an hour, sink away into a sweet and refreshing slumber.  On glancing around the room, she was gratified, and somewhat surprised, to see everything, though plain and scanty, exhibiting the utmost order and cleanliness.  The uncarpeted floor was spotless, and the single pine table as white as hands could make it.  “How much am I to blame,” was her inward thought, “for having so neglected this poor woman in her distress and in her poverty!”

On returning to her company, and giving a history of the scene she had just witnessed, the general feeling of sympathy prompted immediate measures for relief, and a very handsome sum was placed in the hands of Mrs.—­, by the gentlemen and ladies present, for the use of Mrs. Warburton.  Rarely does a social company retire with each individual of it so satisfied in heart as did the company assembled at Mrs.—­’s, on that evening.  Truly could they say, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

The incident just related, possessing a kind of romantic interest, soon became noised about from family to family, and for awhile it was fashionable to minister to the wants of Mrs. Warburton—­whose health continued very delicate—­and to her young family.  But a few months passed away, and then one after another ceased to remember or care for her.  Even Mrs.—­, the mother of little Billy, began to grow weary of charity long continued, and to feel that it was a burdensome task to be every day or two obliged to call in or inquire after the poor invalid.  Finally, she dismissed the subject from her mind, and left Mrs. Warburton to the tender mercies of Sarah, the housekeeper.