“You asked relief of them?” “Never; oh, God knows, never! My family have never asked a penny of a parish. They would die first, and so would I, sir; but they said I might do it, and I had better go to my husband’s parish at once--and they offered me money to go.” “And you took it, of course?” “No, sir; I had a little money, which I had earned by washing and laundering, and I sold most of my things, as I could not carry them, and came off. I felt hurt, sir; my heart rose against the treatment of the parish, and I thought I should be better among my husband’s friends--and my child would, if anything happened to me; I had no friends of my own.” Mr. Spires looked at the woman in silence. “Did your husband tell you anything of his friends? What sort of a man was he?” “Oh, he was a gay young fellow, rather, sir; but not bad to me. He always said his friends were well off in Stockington.” “He did!” said the manufacturer, with a great stare, and as if bolting the words from his heart in a large gust of wonder. The poor woman again looked at him with a strange look. The manufacturer whistled to himself, and giving his horse a smart cut with the whip, drove on faster than ever. The night was fast settling down; it was numbing cold; a gray fog rose from the river as they thundered over the old bridge; and tall engine chimneys, and black smoky houses loomed through the dusk before them. They were at Stockington. As they slackened their pace up a hill at the entrance of the town, Mr. Spires again opened his mouth. “I should be sorry to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Deg,” he said, “but I have my fears that you are coming to this place with false expectations. I fear your husband did not give you the truest possible account of his family here.” “Oh, Sir! What--what is it?” exclaimed the poor woman; “in God’s name, tell me!” “Why, nothing more than this,” said the manufacturer, “that there are very few of the Degs left here. They are old, and on the parish, and can do nothing for you.” The poor woman gave a deep sigh, and was silent. “But don’t be cast down,” said Mr. Spires. He would not tell her what a pauper family it really was, for he saw that she was a very feeling woman, and he thought she would learn that soon enough. He felt that her husband had from vanity given her a false account of his connections; and he was really sorry for her. “Don’t be cast down,” he went on, “you can wash and iron, you say; you are young and strong; those are your friends. Depend on them, and they’ll be better friends to you than any other.”