erington began to entertain of
leaving Lady Penelope to execute her works of devoted charity without
his assistance. It was now with an interest equal to her own, that he
stood before a most miserable hut, where the unfortunate female, her
distresses not greatly relieved by Lady Penelope's ostentatious bounty,
had resided both previous to her confinement, and since that event had
taken place, with an old woman, one of the parish poor, whose miserable
dole the minister had augmented, that she might have some means of
assisting the stranger.

Lady Penelope lifted the latch and entered, after a momentary
hesitation, which proceeded from a struggle betwixt her fear of
infection, and her eager curiosity to know something, she could not
guess what, that might affect the Mowbrays in their honour or fortunes.
The latter soon prevailed, and she entered, followed by Lord
Etherington. The lady, like other comforters of the cabins of the poor,
proceeded to rebuke the grumbling old woman for want of order and
cleanliness--censured the food which was provided for the patient, and
enquired particularly after the wine which she had left to make caudle
with. The crone was not so dazzled with Lady Penelope's dignity or
bounty as to endure her reprimand with patience. "They that had their
bread to won wi' ae arm," she said, for the other hung powerless by her
side, "had mair to do than to soop hooses; if her leddyship wad let her
ain idle quean of a lass take the besom, she might make the house as
clean as she liked; and madam wad be a' the better of the exercise, and
wad hae done, at least, ae turn of wark at the week's end."

"Do you hear the old hag, my lord?" said Lady Penelope. "Well, the poor
are horrid ungrateful wretches--And the wine, dame--the wine?"

"The wine!--there was hardly half a mutchkin, and puir, thin, fusionless
skink it was--the wine was drank out, ye may swear--we didna fling it
ower our shouther--if ever we were to get good o't, it was by taking it
naked, and no wi' your sugar and your slaisters--I wish, for ane, I had
ne'er kend the sour smack o't. If the bedral hadna gien me a drap of
usquebaugh, I might e'en hae died of your leddyship's liquor, for"----

Lord Etherington here interrupted the grumbling crone, thrusting some
silver into her grasp, and at the same time begging her to be silent.
The hag weighed the crown-piece in her hand, and crawled to her
chimney-corner, muttering as she went,--"This is someth