ng this that Liz turned round to her.

"If she lived to be a woman," with a gesture toward the child; "if she
lived to be a woman, do yo' think as sh'd remember me if--if owt should
happen to me now?"

"I conna tell," Joan answered, "but I'd try to mak' her."

"Would yo'?" and then she dropped her face upon her hands. "It ud be
best if she'd forget me," she said. "It ud be best if she'd forget me."

"Nay, Liz," said Joan. "Tha'rt out o' soarts."

"Ay, I am," said the girl, "an' I need be. Eh, Joan! tha'rt a good
wench. I wish I wur loike thee."

"Tha need na, lass."

"But I do. Tha'd nivver go wrong i' th' world. Nowt could mak' thee go
wrong. Tha'rt so strong like. An' tha'rt patient, too, Joan, an' noan
loike the rest o' women. I dunnot think--if owt wur to happen me now--as
tha'd ha' hard thowts o' me. Wouldst tha?" wistfully.

"Nay, lass. I've been fond o' thee, an' sorry fur thee, and if tha wur
to dee tha mayst mak' sure I'd noan be hard on thee. But tha art na
goin' to dee, I hope."

To her surprise the girl caught her hand, and, pulling it down upon her
knee, laid her cheek against it and burst into tears.

"I dunnot know; I mought, or--or--summat. But nivver tha turn agen me,
Joan,--nivver tha hate me. I am na loike thee,--I wur na made loike
thee. I conna stand up agen things, but I dunnot think as I'm so bad as
foaks say!"

When this impassioned mood passed away, she was silent again for a long
time. The baby fell asleep upon Joan's breast, but she did not move
it,--she liked to feel it resting there; its close presence always
seemed to bring her peace. At length, however, Liz spoke once more.

"Wheer wur thy feyther goin' wi' Spring an' Braddy?" she asked.

Joan turned a pale face toward her.

"Wheer did yo' see him wi' Spring an' Braddy?"

"Here," was Liz's reply. "He wur here this afternoon wi' em. They did
na coom in, though,--they waited i' th' road, while he went i' th' back
room theer fur summat. I think it wur a bottle. It wur that he coom fur,
I know, fur I heerd Braddy say to him, 'Hast getten it?' an' thy feyther
said, 'Ay,' an' th' other two laughed as if they wur on a spree o' some
soart."

Joan rose from her chair, white and shaking.

"Tak' th' choild," she said, hoarsely. "I'm goin' out."

"Out!" cried Liz. "Nay, dunnot go out What ails thee, Joan?"

"I ha' summat to do," said Joan. "Stay tha here with th' choild." And
almost before she finished speaking she was gone, and