ork neyther at th' pit
nor at th' factories, as long as I mun drag it about, an' I ha' not
got a place to lay my head, on'y this. If it wur na for Joan, I might
starve, and the choild too. But I'm noan so bad as yo'd mak' out. I--I
wur very fond o' _him_--I wur, an' I thowt he wur fond o' me, an' he wur
a gentleman too. He were no laboring-man, an' he wur kind to me, until
he got tired. Them sort allus gets tired o' yo' i' time, Joan says. I
wish I'd ha' towd Joan at first, an' axed her what to do."

Barholm passed his hand through his hair uneasily. This shallow,
inconsequent creature baffled him. Her shame, her grief, her misery,
were all mere straws eddying on the pool of her discomfort It was not
her sin that crushed her, it was the consequence of it; hers was not a
sorrow, it was a petulant unhappiness. If her lot had been prosperous
outwardly, she would have felt no inward pang.

It became more evident to him than ever that something must be done, and
he applied himself to his task of reform to the best of his ability.
But he exhausted his repertory of sonorous phrases in vain. His grave
exhortations only called forth fresh tears, and a new element
of resentment; and, to crown all, his visit terminated with a
discouragement of which his philosophy had never dreamed.

In the midst of his most eloquent reproof, a shadow darkened the
threshold, and as Liz looked up with the explanation--"Joan!" a young
woman, in pit girl guise, came in, her hat pushed off her forehead, her
throat bare, her fus-tian jacket hanging over her arm. She glanced from
one to the other questioningly, knitting her brows slightly at the sight
of Liz's tears. In answer to her glance Liz spoke querulously.

"It's th' parson, Joan," she said. "He comn to talk like th' rest on 'em
an' he maks me out too ill to burn."

Just at that moment the child set up a fretful cry and Joan crossed the
room and took it up in her arms.

"Yo've feart th' choild betwixt yo'," she said, "if yo've managed to do
nowt else."

"I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish," explained Barholm somewhat
curtly, "I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish, to endeavor to bring
your friend to a proper sense of her position."

Joan turned toward him.

"Has tha done it?" she asked.

The Reverend Harold felt his enthusiasm concerning the young woman dying
out.

"I--I--" he stammered.

Joan interrupted him.

"Dost tha see as tha has done her any good?" she demanded.