y denounced by nearly every man,
woman, and child in the village; but now, as the fact of, her death
was passed from lip to lip, in subdued tones, pity took the place of
anger, and sorrow of denunciation. Neighbors went hastily to the old
tumble-down hut, in which she had secured little more than a place
of shelter from summer heats and winter cold: some with
grave-clothes for a decent interment of the body; and some with food
for the half-starving children, three in number. Of these, John, the
oldest, a boy of twelve, was a stout lad, able to earn his living
with any farmer. Kate, between ten and eleven, was bright, active
girl, out of whom something clever might be made, if in good hands;
but poor little Maggie, the youngest, was hopelessly diseased. Two
years before a fall from a window had injured her spine, and she had
not been able to leave her bed since, except when lifted in the arms
of her mother.

"What is to be done with the children?" That was the chief question
now. The dead mother would go underground, and be forever beyond all
care or concern of the villagers. But the children must not be left
to starve. After considering the matter, and talking it over with
his wife, farmer Jones said that he would take John, and do well by
him, now that his mother was out of the way; and Mrs. Ellis, who had
been looking out for a bound girl, concluded that it would be
charitable in her to make choice of Katy, even though she was too
young to be of much use for several years.

"I could do much better, I know," said Mrs. Ellis; "but as no one
seems inclined to take her, I must act from a sense of duty expect
to have trouble with the child; for she's an undisciplined
thing--used to having her own way."

But no one said "I'll take Maggie." Pitying glances were cast on her
wan and wasted form and thoughts were troubled on her account.
Mothers brought cast-off garments and, removing her soiled and
ragged clothes, dressed her in clean attire. The sad eyes and
patient face of the little one touched many hearts, and even knocked
at them for entrance. But none opened to take her in. Who wanted a
bed-ridden child?

"Take her to the poorhouse," said a rough man, of whom the question
"What's to be done with Maggie?" was asked. "Nobody's going to be
bothered with her."

"The poorhouse is a sad place for a sick and helpless child,"
answered one.

"For your child or mine," said the other, lightly speaking; "but for
tis brat i