Anna, sunk in the stupor of her own grief, did not realize the comfort
of her mother's presence until it was too late. She shrank from the
strangers with whom they made their little home--a middle aged
shopkeeper and his wife, who had been glad enough to rent them two
unused rooms in their house at a low figure. They were not lacking in
sympathy for young "Mrs. Lennox," but their disposition to ask
questions made Anna shun them as she would have an infection. After
her mother's death, they tried harder than ever to be kind to her, but
the listless girl, who spent her days gazing at nothing, was hardly
aware of their comings and goings.

"If you would only try to eat a bit, my dear," said the corpulent Mrs.
Smith, bustling into Anna's room. "And land sakes, don't take on so.
There you set in that chair all day long. Just rouse yourself, my
dear; there ain't no trouble, however bad, but could be wuss."

To this dismal philosophy, Anna would return a wan smile, while she
felt her heart almost break within her.

"And, Mrs. Lennox, don't mind what I say to you. I am old enough to be
your grandmother, but if you have quarreled with any one, don't be too
spunky now about making up. Spunk is all right in its place, but its
place ain't at the bedside of a young woman who's got to face the trial
of her life. If you have quarreled with any one--your--your husband,
say, now is the time to make it up, since your ma is gone."

The old woman looked at her with a strange mixture of motherliness and
curiosity. As she said to her husband a dozen times a day, "her heart
just ached for that pore young thing upstairs," but this tender
solicitude did not prevent her ears from aching, at the same time, to
hear Anna's story.

"Thank you very much for your kind interest, Mrs. Smith; but really,
you must let me judge of my own affairs." There was a dignity about
the girl that brooked no further interference.

"That's right, my dear, and I wouldn't have thought of suggesting it,
but you do seem that young--well, I must be going down to put the
potatoes on for dinner. If you want anything, just ring your bell."

There was not the least resentment cherished by the corpulent Mrs.
Smith. The girl's answer confirmed her opinion from the first. "She
would not send for her husband, because there wasn't no husband to send
for." She mentioned her convictions to her husband and added she meant
to write to sister Eliza that very nig