the dead face and almost started to see the strange content stamped on
it.

Then Mrs. Hicks began to speak in a high-pitched voice which broke now
and again as her bosom heaved after past tears.

"The awnly son of his mother, an' she a widow wummon; an' theer 's no
Christ now to work for the love of the poor. I be shattered wi' many
groans an' tears, Chris Blanchard, same as you be. You knawed him--awnly
you an' me; but you 'm young yet, an' memory's so weak in young brains
that you'll outlive it all an' forget."

"Never, never, mother! Theer 's no more life for me--not here. He's
callin' to me--callin' an' callin' from yonder."

"You'll outlive an' forget," repeated the other. "I cannot, bein' as I
am. An', mind this, when you pray to Heaven, ax for gold an' diamonds,
ax for houses an' lands, ax for the fat of the airth; an' ax loud. No
harm in axin'. Awnly doan't pitch your prayers tu dirt low, for ban't
the hardness of a thing stops God. You 'm as likely or onlikely to get a
big answer as a little. See the blessin' flowin' in streams for some
folks! They do live braave an' happy, with gude health, an' gude wives,
an' money, an' the fruits of the land; they do get butivul childer, as
graws up like the corners of the temple; an' when they come to die, they
shut their eyes 'pon kind faaces an' lie in lead an' oak under polished
marble. All that be theers; an' what was his--my son's?"

"God forgot him," sobbed Chris, "an' the world forgot him--all but you
an' me."

The old woman shifted her hands wearily.

"Theer's a mort for God to bear in mind, but 't is hard, here an' there,
wheer He slips awver some lowly party an' misses a humble whisper.
Clamour if you want to be heard; doan't go with bated breath same as I
done. 'T was awnly a li'l thing I axed, an' axed it twice a day on my
knees, ever since my man died twenty-three year agone. An' often as not
thrice Sundays, so you may count up the number of times I axed if you
mind to. Awnly a li'l rubbishy thing you might have thought: just to
bring his fair share o' prosperity to Clem an' keep my bones out the
poorhouse at the end. But my bwoy 's brawk his neck by a cruel death,
an' I must wear the blue cotton."

"No, no, mother."

"Ess. Not that it looks so hard as it did. This makes it easy--" and she
put her hand on her son's forehead and left it there a moment.

Presently she continued:

"I axed Clem to turn the bee-butts at my sister's passing--Mrs.
Lezzar