ose, and now bent his steps down Market Street. At the foot
of the hill he paused before a row of white-washed cottages. A green
fence ran along their front, and a pebbled path; and here he found a
stout, matronly woman bent over a wash-tub.

"Does Mrs. Best live here?" he asked.

The woman withdrew about a dozen pins from her mouth and answered all in
one breath:--

"She isn't called Best any longer; she married agen five year ago;
second husbing, he died too; she doesn' live here any more."

With this she stuck the pins very deliberately, one by one, in the bosom
of her print gown, and plunged her hands into the wash-tub again.

The Emigrant stood nonplussed for a moment and scratched the back of his
head, tilting his soft hat still further forward on his nose.

"She used to be very fond of me when I was a boy," he said lamely.

"Yes?" The tone seemed to ask what business that could be of hers.

"She came as nurse to my mother when I was born. I suppose that made
her take a fancy to me."

"Ah, no doubt," replied the woman vaguely, and added, while she soaped
a long black stocking, "she did a lot o' that, one time and another."
"She had a little girl of her own before I left Tregarrick," the
Emigrant persisted, not because she appeared interested--she did not, at
all--but with some vague hope of making himself appear a little less
trivial. "Lizzie she called her. I suppose you don't know what has
become of the old woman?"

"Well, considerin' that I'm her daughter Elizabeth"--she lengthened the
name with an implied reproof--"I reckon I ought to know."

The Emigrant's hand sought and crushed the big packet of sweets well
into his pocket. He flushed scarlet. At the same time he could hardly
keep back a smile at his absurd mistake. To be here with lollipops for
a woman of thirty and more!

"You haven't any little ones of your own?"

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Oh, well; only a question. My name is Peter Jago--Pete, I used to be
called."

"Yes?"

He took notice that she had said nothing of her mother's whereabouts;
and concluded, rightly, that the old woman must be in the workhouse.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I might be able to do something
for her."

The woman became attentive at last.

"Any small trifle you might think o' leavin' with me, sir, it should
duly reach her. She've failed a lot, lately."

"Thank you; I'll think it over. Good-day."

He strolled back to the Pack-