he has asked too often."

"I will ask," said Sybil. "But first, I have a companion without," she
added, "who bears a basket for you. Come in, Harold."

The baby began to cry the moment a large dog entered the room; a young
bloodhound of the ancient breed, such as are now found but in a few old
halls and granges in the north of England. Sybil untied the basket, and
gave a piece of sugar to the screaming infant. Her glance was sweeter
even than her remedy; the infant stared at her with his large blue eyes;
for an instant astonished, and then he smiled.

"Oh! beautiful child!" exclaimed Sybil; and she took the babe up from
the mattress and embraced it.

"You are an angel from heaven," exclaimed the mother, "and you may well
say beautiful. And only to think of that infamous girl, Harriet, to
desert us all in this way."

Sybil drew forth the contents of the convent basket, and called Warner's
attention to them. "Now," she said, "arrange all this as I tell you, and
I will go down stairs and speak to them below as you wish, Harold rest
there;" and the dog laid himself down in the remotest corner.

"And is that Gerard's daughter?" said the weaver's wife. "Only think
what it is to gain two pounds a-week, and bring up your daughters in
that way--instead of such shameless husseys as our Harriet! But with
such wages one can do anything. What have you there, Warner? Is that
tea? Oh! I should like some tea. I do think tea would do me some good.
I have quite a longing for it. Run down, Warner, and ask them to let us
have a kettle of hot water. It is better than all the fire in the world.
Amelia, my dear, do you see what they have sent us. Plenty to eat. Tell
Maria all about it. You are good girls; you will never be like that
infamous Harriet. When you earn wages you will give them to your poor
mother and baby, won't you?"

"Yes, mother," said Amelia.

"And father, too," said Maria.

"And father, too," said the wife. "He has been a very good father to you
all; and I never can understand why one who works so hard should earn
so little; but I believe it is the fault of those machines. The police
ought to put them down, and then every body would be comfortable."

Sybil and Warner re-entered; the fire was lit, the tea made, the meal
partaken. An air of comfort, even of enjoyment, was diffused over this
chamber, but a few minutes back so desolate and unhappy.

"Well," said the wife, raising herself a little up in her bed, "I fe