Here the poor woman gave way to a burst of tears, which seemed to be a relief to her full heart; for afterwards, she proceeded with more composure. "Many months passed before I was able to do any thing for myself. It pleased God to hear my prayer for patience; and though I was often without any hope that times would ever mend with me, I was kept from fretting. You are very kind to feel for me, but I will not tire you with all my ups and downs for the last three years. I have sent many letters into Canada, but have never received any return. My heart sometimes misgives me, and I think my husband has gone to Europe--or maybe is dead." "But, why," asked Mrs. Sackville, "have you remained so long in the States?" "O, ma'am, I was afraid to undertake the journey with my poor baby, who has always been but delicate, and I was determined not to leave Albany, where I had made many kind friends, till I had earned something to help us on our journey. I know how to turn my hands to almost any kind of work; and the last year has prospered so well with me, that when I left Albany I had forty dollars. At Buffalo my poor baby was taken down; and I have been obliged to spend ten dollars; with the rest I hope to get to Quebec; and if worst comes to worst, I may there find friends to send me to Europe." The poor woman's story was not one of unparalleled misfortunes, but it was unusually interesting to her hearers--there was so much resolution and mildness blended in her countenance, such perfect cleanliness in her coarse apparel, and such an evident solicitude to avoid any exaggeration, or even display of her troubles, that could be an appeal to the charity of her auditors, that when she concluded, they felt convinced of her merit, and deeply interested in her welfare. They were now arrived at the inn, where they were to await the children, who arrived in the course of an hour, heated and dusty--but declaring they had never a more delightful walk. "Lord bless you, Miss," exclaimed Mrs. Barton, "you've heated yourself to that degree, that the blood seems ready to burst from your cheeks. I shall never forgive myself if you get sick by it." "Oh never fear," replied Julia, "I did not feel the heat at all." "But there is such a thick sickly feeling in the air to-day." "Sickly feeling," exclaimed Edward, "I am sure I thought the air was never fresher and sweeter."