James T. Boulton

The elderly woman went and seated herself on the sofa.
The tears were running down the furrows which her old laments
had left.

"I don't know, child, I can't tell you!"--she shook her
head slowly and with despair. Elizabeth sat watching her,
anxious and vexed.

"I don't know," replied the grandmother, sighing very
deeply. "Trouble never leaves us, it doesn't. The things I've
gone through, and now this----!" She wept without wiping
her eyes, the tears running freely. She seemed to be looking
back down the long dark avenue of her troubles.

"But mother," interrupted Elizabeth decisively. "What
have you got to tell me? Let me know!"

The grandmother slowly wiped her eyes. The loose foun-
tains of her tears were stopped by Elizabeth's sharpness. She
wiped her eyes slowly. She knew it was aggravating, but then
--her daughter-in-law had nettled her; and she could not rise
too abruptly out of the luxurious bed of her grief.

"Poor child! eh, you poor thing!" she wailed. "I don't
know what we're going to do, I don't--and you as you are--
it's an awful thing, it is indeed, an awful thing!"

Elizabeth sat strangling in the cords of suspense.

"Is he dead?" she asked, and at the words her heart swung
violently, though she felt a slight flush of shame at the ultimate
extravagance of the idea. The question sufficiently startled
the old lady.

"Don't say so, Elizabeth! The Lord won't let it be as
bad as that; no, the Lord will spare us that, Elizabeth. Jack
Rigley came just as I was sittin' down to a glass afore going to
bed, an' 'e said, ' 'Appen you'll go down th' line, Mrs. Bates.
Walt's had an accident. 'Appen you'll go an' sit wi' 'er till

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