r's husband's cousin won't let us in."

Yet even while her back was toward it, as she contemplated the landscape
pondering which way lay her road, the door again suddenly opened and
Mary Fogarty announced, shrilly, but not unkindly:

"There's the wagon-house. You can rest there a spell, seein' you was
simple enough to lug that hefty young one clear across the meadder. It's
that third one, where the big door stands open an' the stone-boat is."

Glory faced about, her face at once radiant with gratitude, and its
effect upon the cottage mistress was to further soften her asperity, so
that though she again ejaculated that contemptuous "Huh!" it was in a
milder tone; and, with something like interest she demanded, "How long
's that baby been that feverish she is now? She looks 's if she was
comin' down with somethin' catchin'. Best get her home, soon 's you can,
sissy. She ain't fit to be runnin' round loose."

Poor little Bonny Angel didn't look much like "running loose" at
present, and as for "home," the word brought an intolerable feeling to
Glory's heart, making the sunny fields before her to seem like prison
walls that yet had a curious sort of wobble to them, as if they were
dancing up and down in a wild way. But that was because she regarded
them now through a mist of tears she could not repress, while visions of
a shadowy Lane, whose very gloom would have been precious to her on that
hot day, obtruded themselves upon the scene.

With a desperate desire for guidance, Glory burst out her whole story
and Mary Fogarty was forced to listen, whether or no. To that good
woman's credit it was that as she listened her really warm heart, upon
which Timothy Dowd had counted, got the better of her impatience and,
once more closing the door upon her peeping children, she said,

"Why, you poor, brave little creatur'! Come this way. I'll show you
where, though you must carry the baby yourself, if so be she won't carry
herself. I've got seven o' my own an' I wouldn't have nothin' catchin'
get amongst them, not for a fortune. I wouldn't dare. I've had 'em down,
four er five to a time, with whooping-cough an' measles an' scarletina
an' what not; an' now sence the twinses come, I don't want no more of it
I can tell you. Don't lag."

Mary strode along, "like a horse," as her husband frequently
complimented her, walking as fast as she was talking and, with Bonny
Angel in her arms, Goober Glory did her best to keep a similar pace. B