Food was brought, and the babe devoured it as if half famished, but the mother ate sparingly. She was evidently very ill, almost dying, thought those about her, and hastened to do all in their power for her relief and comfort. Plainly she was, as Mrs. Kemper had said, no common tramp: there was lady-like refinement in face, voice, and manner; her accent was pure, her speech correct and even elegant, as, in answer to kindly inquiries, she gave a brief account of the causes of her present sad condition. At an early age she had been left an orphan and without any natural protector; had married some three years ago, and two years later her husband had died, leaving her penniless, in feeble health, and with a babe to support. She had managed for a time to earn a scanty living by needlework, but there was little demand for it where she lived, and wages were very low; so, taking her child in her arms, she had set out in search of other employment or a better location. It had proved a long, weary quest, and here she was, in utter destitution and about, she greatly feared, to die, and leave her helpless babe with none to love or care for it. With the last words a great sob burst from her bosom; and clasping the little creature close, “Ah my darling, my little Ethel, if I might but take you with me!” she moaned in anguish. “Ah now don’t take on so,” Irene said kindly. “You’ll be better to-morrow. Walking all day in the cold, and gettin’ wet too, it’s no wonder you’re down-hearted like; but cheer up, you’ll get over it and find work, and maybe see as good days as ever you did.” The wanderer thanked her with a grateful look, as she continued silently to caress Ethel; the child, no longer cold and hungry, hanging about her mother’s neck, stroking her face lovingly, and prattling in innocent glee. Mrs. Kemper watched her with delighted, longing eyes, the tears starting to them once and again. “What a lovely, darling little creature she is!” she whispered to her husband; “just the age our Nellie was.” And then she added a few words in a still lower tone. He nodded acquiescence; and turning to the mother, said that he and his wife would like to adopt the child and bring it up as their own; that they would do so if she would at once give it up entirely to them. A look of mingled grief and terror came over her face at the bare suggestion. She clutched her treasure in a death-like grasp. “No, no! how could I? how could I?” she cried, “my baby! my precious baby! my all! no, no, never, never!” “Take time to consider,” he said soothingly. “I am sorry to distress you, but, as you have yourself said, your child will soon need another protector, and it is very unlikely that another will be readily found to do as well by her as we would.”