“Careless jade you!  Break my dishes and steal my milk; giving it without my leave to a dumb beast.  There, take that,” and she gave her a sharp blow on the face.

It was not the blow that made the poor girl’s blood tinge her cheeks, but the sense of degradation; the low life she was living, in daily contact with one so overbearing, coarse, and rude.

She did not weep, but one might have known by those suppressed sobs, that the heart’s love was being sapped, all its feelings outraged.

At that moment her father came in, and finding supper delayed, commenced scolding in a loud voice.

“I tell ye what, woman, I won’t work and provide, to be treated in this ere way.  D’ ye hear?” and he came close to Margaret and looked into her face.

“Yes, sir.  I was late to-night.”

“Yer allus late, somehow.  Why don’t yer stir round and be lively like other gals, and be more cheery like?”

His poor, rough nature was beginning to feel the need of a better life.

“Let her work as I have, and she’ll be thankful to have a roof over her head, let alone the things I make her,” broke in Mrs. Thorne.  “When I was a gal, I had to work for my bread and butter.”  Having thus relieved her mind, she flew busily about, and the supper was soon ready, to which they sat down, but not as to a homelike repast.  Such a thing was not known in that house.

The evening, as usual, passed in a dull routine of drudgery, and Margaret was, as she had been hundreds of times before, glad to reach its close and retire to her room.

Thus wore the winter slowly away, and the days so full of labor, unrelieved by pleasure of any kind, were fast undermining the health and spirits of the sad girl.

When spring came, her step was slower and her cheek paler, but there was no eye of love to mark those changes, and her labors were not lessened.  At length her strength gave way, and a slow fever coursed through her veins as the result of over-taxation.  The languor it produced was almost insupportable, and she longed for the green woods, and the pure air, and a sight of running waters.

Mrs. Thorne saw that something must be done, and finally consented that Margaret might take a little recreation in the manner she had proposed, accompanying her consent with the remark that she thought it a very idle way of spending one’s time.

Margaret’s constant companion in her rambles was the faithful dog Trot, who highly enjoyed this new phase of life, and with him at her side she had nothing to fear.

The change brought new life to her wasted system, and as she conned over the beauties around, watched the sparkle of the running brooks, and listened to the songs of the free birds, she wished that her life was as free and beautiful.

One day while trimming a wreath of oak leaves, she thought she heard footsteps, and the low growl of Trot, before she had time to turn her head, confirmed her impression that some one was approaching.