to support herself. "Give me the child," said Mr. Simpson, taking it from her arms.
"I'm so hungry!" said the little girl in a feeble voice.
"Oh give her food!" cried the mother—"or let me die at once—for I cannot live and hear that cry!"
"She shall have food, and plenty!" said Mr. Simpson—"God! that such things should be! Have you a home?" he asked—"Where can we take you?"
"I've no home," replied she—"I've no roof to shelter myself, nor my child, nor a bit of bread to give her!"
"Where can we take her?" said Mr. Simpson, abruptly. "She should go home with me, but I have no woman in the house—it's so late that no respectable place will be open—besides, unless they know us, they will object to let her in. I don't like to take her to the watchhouse."
"She shall go home with me, Sir," said Mr. Wetherall, carried away by his own good-nature, and the benevolence of the stranger. "I can give her shelter for to-night, at least."
"God will reward you for it," returned Mr Simpson—"after to-night she shall be no bur-
L 2
