ight colored
shawl and face wreathed in smiles, leaned far out of the window, waving
an answer to the shouted farewells.

Mistress McVeigh spent a major portion of the evening in getting
acquainted with her environments. Her previous ride in the cars had
been her honeymoon, but that was so long ago that she had forgotten
even the sensation. Its novelty now intruded on her peace of mind, and
she enjoyed it, although it was tiring. She sat gazing about in silent
contemplation until the lamps had been lighted and the negro porter was
shouting his evening dinner call. His words reminded her that she had
a basket of good things, so she took off her bonnet, spread her shawl
on the adjacent seat and proceeded to lay out the contents. Most of
the people in the coach were going forward to the diner, but such
extravagance did not appeal to her. But she did notice that a very
delicately featured lady, with a small baby and a boy of two or three,
was endeavoring with patient though apparently ineffectual effort to
satisfy the fretful wants of her little ones. The worried flush in the
young mother's cheek, and the trembling of her lips, roused Nancy's
compassionate nature, and, although she would not have confessed it,
she was lonesome. To be amongst people unspoken to and unnoticed was a
revelation that had never existed in her tiny world. She watched the
struggling woman covertly for a short time, while she nibbled at her
lunch, and then she could bear it no longer, so she stepped across the
aisle.

"If ye please, ma'am, I'll take the baby fer a spell, while ye give the
boy his supper," she volunteered.

The lady shot a grateful glance at the queer old body who had accosted
her.

"If you don't mind the bother," she replied, sweetly.

"It's no bother, sure," Nancy declared, emphatically, and her eyes
dwelt over-long on her new acquaintance. The lady reminded her of
someone, then like a flash it came to her, and she looked again so
persistently that the lady was embarrassed. It was Jennie's mother she
remembered, the night she came, sick and broken, into the tavern, with
her baby in her arms.

"The poor wee thing's fair excited," she murmured, as she cuddled the
tiny bundle against her breast.

"Won't you take tea with us?" the mother inquired, her face lighting up
at the prospect.

"Ye must just help yerselves from my basket, then," Nancy protested, as
she brought it over.

Mrs. Morris, for such was the lady