sin' afore yo' comn--if yo're th' new parson," and then she
colored nervously and became fearfully conscious of her miserable little
burden, "I've heerd Joan speak o' th' young parson," she faltered.

Her visitor looked at her gravely. What a helpless, childish creature
she was, with her pretty face, and her baby, and her characterless,
frightened way. She was only one of many--poor Liz, ignorant, emotional,
weak, easily led, ready to err, unable to bear the consequences of
error, not strong enough to be resolutely wicked, not strong enough to
be anything in particular, but that which her surroundings made her.
If she had been well-born and well brought up, she would have been a
pretty, insipid girl, who needed to be taken care of; as it was, she had
"gone wrong." The excellent Rector of St. Michael's felt that she must
be awakened.

"You are the girl Elizabeth?" he said.

"I'm 'Lizabeth Barnes," she answered, pulling at the hem of her child's
small gown, "but folks nivver calls me nowt but Liz."

Her visitor pointed to a chair considerately. "Sit down," he said, "I
want to talk to you."

Liz obeyed him; but her pretty, weak face told its own story of distaste
and hysterical shrinking. She let the baby lie upon her lap; her fingers
were busy plaiting up folds of the little gown.

"I dunnot want to be talked to," she whimpered. "I dunnot know as talk
can do folk as is i' trouble any good--an' th' trouble's bad enow wi'out
talk."

"We must remember whence the trouble comes," answered the minister, "and
if the root lies in ourselves, and springs from our own sin, we must
bear our cross meekly, and carry our sorrows and iniquities to the
fountain head. We must ask for grace, and--and sanctification of
spirit."

"I dunnot know nowt about th' fountain head," sobbed Liz aggrieved.
"I amna religious an' I canna see as such loike helps foak. No Methody
nivver did nowt for me when I war i' trouble an' want Joan Lowrie is na
a Methody."

"If you mean that the young woman is in an unawakened condition, I am
sorry to hear it," with increased gravity of demeanor. "Without the
redeeming blood how are we to find peace? If you had clung to the Cross
you would have been spared all this sin and shame. You must know, my
girl, that this," with a motion toward the frail creature on her knee,
"is a very terrible thing."

Liz burst into piteous sobs--crying like an abused child:

"I know it's hard enow," she cried; "I canna get w