At this instant they saw an old woman come from a copse near the cottage, with a bundle of sticks on her back and a tin can in her hand: this was Dorothy. She saved them all the trouble and delicacy of asking questions, for there was not a more communicative creature breathing. She in the first place threw down her faggots, and offered her service to guide the young ladies home; she guessed they belonged to the family that was newly come to settle at the Hills, which she described, though she could not tell the name. She would not be denied the pleasure of showing them the shortest and safest way, and the only way by which they could get home before it was night-fall. So they accepted her kind offer, and she trudged on, talking as she went. “It is a weary thing, ladies, to live in this lone place, where one does not see a soul to speak to from one month’s end to another--especially to me that has lived afore now in my younger days in Lon’on. But it’s as God pleases! and I wish none had greater troubles in this world than I--You were up at the house, ladies? There within at my little place--ay--then you saw the greatest and the only great trouble I have, or ever had in this life.--Did not you, ladies, see the young woman with the child in her arms?--But may be you did not mind Kate, and she’s nothing now to look at, quite faded and gone, though she’s only one month past nineteen years of age. I am sure I ought to know, for I was at her christening, and nursed her mother. She’s of very good parentage, that is, of a farmer’s family, that _has_, as well as his neighbours, that lives a great way off, quite on the other side of the country. And not a year, at least not a year and a half ago, I remember Kate Robinson dancing on the green at Squire Burton’s there with the rest of the girls of the village, and without compare the prettiest and freshest, and most blithsome and innocent of them all. Ay, she was innocent then, none ever more so, and she had no care, but all looking kind upon her in this world, and fond parents taking pride in her--and now look at her what she is! Cast off by all, shamed, and forgotten, and broken-hearted, and lost as much as if she was in her grave. And better she was in her grave than as she is.” The old woman now really felt so much that she stopped speaking, and she was silent for several minutes. “Ah! dear ladies,” said she, looking up at Rosamond and Caroline, “I see you have kind hearts within you, and I thank you for pitying poor Kate.” “I wish we could do any thing to serve her,” said Caroline. “Ah! miss, that I am afraid you can’t--that’s what I am afraid none can now.” The good woman paused and looked as if she expected to be questioned. Caroline was silent, and the old woman looked disappointed. “We do not like to question you,” said Rosamond, “lest we should ask what you might not like to answer, or what the young woman would be sorry that you should answer.”