resence of a sorrow they
could feel but not understand.

The little garden was gay from end to end with multi-coloured crocuses,
and two or three men stood looking at them, not daring to venture
within the house, but ready to offer help if required. One of them
muttered: "Bad job, this, miss!" as I passed; and the rest moved their
heads in affirmation.

Ginty's mother was seated at the little round table, her head in her
hands, and her eyes fixed upon an old cash box in front of her. The
lid was thrown back and the box was empty. The picture told its own
story; and to complete it a framed photograph of Ginty, which I had
given him only a few weeks previously, hung upon the wall opposite, so
that the author and his work were closely associated.

The women turned as I entered, and began to explain and discuss the
situation before the poor woman who was its victim, in that seemingly
callous manner with which the poor cloak and yet express their sympathy.

"Them's best off as has no bairns," said the blacksmith's wife; "ye
moil an' toil for 'em, an' bring 'em up through their teethin' an' all
make o' ailments, an' lay down yer varry life for 'em, an' this is how
they pay you back in t' end."

"Ay," said Sar'-Ann's mother, "shoo'll hev to be thankful 'at it's no
worse. So far as I know he's ta'en nob'dy's money but 'er's, so I
don't suppose t' police 'll be after 'im. Eh! but it's a sad job an'
all, an' he were bahn to wed our Sar'-Ann in a toathree week. Well,
it's a rare good job for 'er 'at it's happened afore they were wed,
rayther than at after."

"But whativver is shoo goin' to do now 'at Ginty's gone?" inquired the
next door neighbour, Susannah; "Ginty kept 'er, an' _shoo_ can't do
nowt, not wi' them rheumatics in her legs, an' all that pile o' money
gone. Nay, 'Lizabeth, lass, I nivver thowt ye'd scraped so mich
together. It 'ud ha' served ye nicely for yer old age, but ye sud ha'
put it in a bank. Whativver ye're bahn to do now, God only knows."

"We must see what can be done," I interposed. "We must all be her
friends now that this trouble has come upon her, and do not let us add
to her distress by our discussion. You will let us help you, won't
you?" I asked.

She did not speak or move, but just stared stonily into the empty box;
one would have said that she had not even heard.

I withdrew my hand as Susannah came forward. Susannah is a good woman,
with a kind heart, and had known 'Lizabeth