at that moment casting
his eyes on her saw in this poor stranger the face of his own
runaway daughter, Mrs. Incle. He groaned, but could not speak; and
as he was turning away to conceal his anguish, the little boy fondly
caught hold of his hand, lisping out, "O stay and give mammy some
bread." His heart yearned toward the child; he grasped his little
hand in his, while he sorrowfully said to Mr. Worthy, "It is too
much, send away the people. It is my dear naughty child; '_my
punishment is greater than I can bear_.'" Mr. Worthy desired the
people to go and leave the stranger to them; but by this time she
was no stranger to any of them. Pale and meager as was her face, and
poor and shabby as was her dress, the proud and flaunting Miss Polly
Bragwell was easily known by every one present. They went away, but
with the mean revenge of little minds, they paid themselves by
abuse, for all the airs and insolence they had once endured from
her. "Pride must have a fall," said one, "I remember when she was
too good to speak to a poor body," said another. "Where are her
flounces and furbelows now? It is come home to her at last; her
child looks as if he would be glad of the worst bit she formerly
denied us."

In the mean time Mr. Bragwell had sunk into an old wicker chair
which stood behind, and groaned out, "Lord, forgive my hard heart!
Lord, subdue my proud heart; _create a clean heart, O God! and renew
a right spirit within me_." These were perhaps the first words of
genuine prayer he had ever offered up in his whole life. Worthy
overheard it, and in his heart rejoiced; but this was not a time for
talking, but doing. He asked Bragwell what was to be done with the
unfortunate woman, who now seemed to recover fast, but she did not
see them, for they were behind. She embraced her boy, and faintly
said, "My child, what shall we do? _I will arise and go to my
father, and say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and
before thee._" This was a joyful sound to Mr. Worthy, who was
inclined to hope that her heart might be as much changed for the
better as her circumstances were altered for the worse; and he
valued the goods of fortune so little, and contrition of soul so
much, that he began to think the change on the whole might be a
happy one. The boy then sprung from his mother, and ran to Bragwell,
saying, "Do be good to mammy." Mrs. Incle looking round, now
perceived her father; she fell at his feet, saying, "O forgive you