vement, to have made a pursuing Fury of the
Good Samaritan; but it was so in this case, and it is a type of many,
many, many.

Two incidents united to intensify the old unreasoning
abhorrence--granted in a previous place to be unreasoning, because the
people always are unreasoning, and invariably make a point of producing
all their smoke without fire.

One day she was sitting in a market-place on a bench outside an inn,
with her little wares for sale, when the deadness that she strove
against came over her so heavily that the scene departed from before
her eyes; when it returned, she found herself on the ground, her head
supported by some good-natured market-women, and a little crowd about
her.

'Are you better now, mother?' asked one of the women. 'Do you think you
can do nicely now?'

'Have I been ill then?' asked old Betty.

'You have had a faint like,' was the answer, 'or a fit. It ain't that
you've been a-struggling, mother, but you've been stiff and numbed.'

'Ah!' said Betty, recovering her memory. 'It's the numbness. Yes. It
comes over me at times.'

Was it gone? the women asked her.

'It's gone now,' said Betty. 'I shall be stronger than I was afore.
Many thanks to ye, my dears, and when you come to be as old as I am, may
others do as much for you!'

They assisted her to rise, but she could not stand yet, and they
supported her when she sat down again upon the bench.

'My head's a bit light, and my feet are a bit heavy,' said old Betty,
leaning her face drowsily on the breast of the woman who had spoken
before. 'They'll both come nat'ral in a minute. There's nothing more the
matter.'

'Ask her,' said some farmers standing by, who had come out from their
market-dinner, 'who belongs to her.'

'Are there any folks belonging to you, mother?' said the woman.

'Yes sure,' answered Betty. 'I heerd the gentleman say it, but I
couldn't answer quick enough. There's plenty belonging to me. Don't ye
fear for me, my dear.'

'But are any of 'em near here? 'said the men's voices; the women's
voices chiming in when it was said, and prolonging the strain.

'Quite near enough,' said Betty, rousing herself. 'Don't ye be afeard
for me, neighbours.'

'But you are not fit to travel. Where are you going?' was the next
compassionate chorus she heard.

'I'm a going to London when I've sold out all,' said Betty, rising with
difficulty. 'I've right good friends in London. I want for nothing. I
shall come to no har