Poor old Dame Sprat lived alone in a hovel, which in this country would hardly be thought good enough for a cow-house. Her husband and children were dead, her property had all been lost in the civil wars and the times which followed them, and she had now no dependence for her daily bread, save the kindness of her neighbors and the faithfulness of that God whom she loved. She had been the wife of an Independent preacher, who was an elderly man at the breaking out of the civil wars. Nevertheless, his age did not prevent him from acting as chaplain to one of Cromwell's regiments, and following its fortunes till just before the Restoration, when he died, full of years and honors. After his death, evil days came upon his widow. She was turned out of the farm upon which her husband's family had lived for many generations, her furniture and goods were wasted and scattered, and herself driven from one place to another till she found a refuge in her present abode. She was now a very aged woman, more than a hundred years old, having been born in the days when Queen Elizabeth sat upon the throne of England: and many a tale had she told Winifred of those stirring times of conquest and adventure, and of the sad and sorrowful days which had followed under the Stuarts. She now sat by the little window of her hut, with her great Bible, almost the only remaining relic of her wealth, on a rude table before her. Her eyes had failed a good deal during the last few years, but she was still able to follow the sacred text by the help of her spectacles. Indeed she was so well acquainted with its contents that she hardly needed the book. "Welcome, my child!" said she, as Winifred appeared. "It is long since you have gladdened my eyes. I began to be troubled lest some misfortune had befallen you." "I should have been here yesterday, but my mother has sprained her ankle and needed me at home," replied Winifred. "She sends you this basket and a bottle of new milk, but, dame," she added, hesitating, "all is not there that mother sent. I have given away part of your bread and milk, but I cannot tell to whom." "Aye, aye!" said the old dame, nodding her head, sagaciously. "I see how it is! Some poor soul fleeing as a bird from the fowlers. But oh, my dear child, be careful! These are evil times, in which he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey." "I know!" said Winifred. "But will you give me two or three apples, dame? I see yours are ripe." "Yes, sweetheart, surely. Take what you please. Here, wait a moment." The old woman hobbled to the place where her bed stood, and after some searching, drew forth an old checked blanket or coverlet. "I shall not need this, these warm nights," said she, "but if any poor body were hiding in the fields, it might be a great comfort to him."