in turning out
several unused rooms, and a great amount of brisk work was going on. The
trim housemaid, Fanny, who was the housekeeper's niece, had come down
the back stairs with an armful of carpets, and had brushed into the
flagged yard before she noticed a pedlar-like-looking man standing
before the back door with a pack upon his back.

"What do you do here?" she called out sharply.

The man appeared weighted down with his bundle, which looked to Fanny's
eyes a good deal bigger than most of the pedlars' packs that she had
seen.

"I am on my way through the country-side selling what maids most love--a
bit of ribbon, a tie, a good serviceable apron, a feather for the hat,
and many a pretty gown; but on my way from the village I met a friend
from my own part of the country, which is not in this county, but two
counties up north, who tells me that my wife is lying dangerously ill.
If I wish to see her alive I must needs travel fast, and a man can
scarce do that with as heavy a pack on his back as I bear. What I
venture to ask most respectfully is that I may place my pack in one
corner of this house, and I will return to fetch it as soon as ever I
can."

He gave a furtive dab to his eyes with the corner of a blue-checked
handkerchief he held in one hand, and hoisted his bundle up higher with
apparent difficulty.

Fanny looked gravely at him "Why didn't you leave your pack at the
village inn?" was all she said.

"I would have done so had I met my friend before leaving the village,
but I met him just at the entrance to the wood, and it seemed hopeless
to trudge all that way back with not only a heavy burden to bear, but a
still heavier heart."

He sighed miserably as he spoke, and Fanny's soft heart was touched.

The man spoke well--better than many pedlars that Fanny had met with,
and his tone was respectful, albeit very pleading. Fanny's heart was
growing softer and softer. He looked faint and weary himself, she
thought, and oh! so very sad----

"Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? Ain't those carpets finished yet?"
The housekeeper's voice sounded sharply at the top of the back
staircase.

The pedlar looked scared. Fanny beckoned him with one finger to follow
her.

"Coming, aunt," she called back. And, still silently beckoning, she
conducted the pedlar into the small breakfast-room.

"Put it down in this corner," she said, "and come for it as soon as you
can."

"May I beg that it will remain untouched,"