woman, only too evidently in
a dying condition, and a son of about fifteen, rude, stubborn, and
rebellious, whose only good-feeling seemed to be love to his poor
mother. Jackson brought out some food, of which Margaret stood greatly
in need, and she was then happy to be allowed to retire to the loft
allotted to her, as she was exhausted by the ride and the agitation of
mind she had gone through during the past week. Miserable as was her
attic, she slept soundly until waked by the sun shining into her eyes:
she quickly dressed, but did not escape a scolding from her sullen
master, who commanded her to make a fire, and get his breakfast for him.
Margaret was remarkably quick and handy for a child of her age, as her
affection to her mother and grandfather had prompted her to do many
little things for them which so young a girl seldom thinks of; but her
delicate white fingers were unused to menial tasks, and to make a fire
was quite beyond the circle of her accomplishments. Jackson then called
upon his son to do it, but told her that he should not make it a second
time, and grumbled and swore at her while he remained in the house.

It is astonishing how human nature can adapt itself to circumstances, so
that the thing which we must do we can do: little Margaret, who had ever
been so tenderly nurtured, soon learned to make the fire, to sweep the
rooms, and cook the meals. Not in the most scientific manner, truly; her
cookery would scarcely have been approved by Kitchener, Glass, or
Soyer, but it was done to the best of her slender ability. While poor
Mrs. Jackson lived, Maggie had at least the satisfaction of feeling that
her efforts to please her were understood: the grateful look, the
languid smile, and the half-expressed pity for the little slave, who was
now to fill her place, reminded the child of her mother, and made her
more contented with her situation. But when, exhausted by the life of
hardship and cruelty which the drunkard's wife must ever experience,
Mrs. Jackson slept her last sleep, and went to the home appointed for
all the living, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary
are at rest," then the little girl had none to feel for her. In a few
days, the boy, Bill Jackson, told her that now his mother was dead, he
wasn't such a fool as to stay there to be kicked and starved by his
father; he intended to run off and go to sea, and he advised her too "to
make herself scarce" as soon as she could. When h