"Don't cry, mother; it's all right; you shan't go on the parish, never fear, neither for outdoor relief nor indoor relief. I've left my place, and I'm coming to live with you and take care of you to the end of your days. I'm not 'Orace, I know, but I'm your daughter, and after the courting's over 'Orace will be your son again." "Left your place, Esther! What do you mean, lass?" "What I say, mother. 'Orace wrote and told me what Ruby said, and I was that sorry I went and gave notice. 'Orace is awful upset, too, but there, it is no good talking to a man in love, and perhaps Ruby will get nicer; she's a young thing yet. So when I told my lady all about it she let me come away at once. The family is going to the Riviera next week, and the housekeeper can manage quite well." "You've left your good place, Esther, all for me?" "Yes; all right, old dear. I've got a fourteen-year character from my lady, and I'll soon find something to do; I'm not the sort as starves." And Esther rolled up her sleeves, made up the fire, and poured the contents of the indignant kettle into the little black teapot. "Oh, dear!" wailed the old lady, "you must not do this for me, lass; you're heaping coals of fire on my 'ead, for, as Mrs. Wells often said to me, 'Don't be so set on 'Orace; remember, you have a girl too.' I was always set on the boys, and not on the girls; women's life is a poor game, and when I heard of them 'eathen 'Indus who kill the girl babies, I thought it a very sensible thing too--better than letting them grow up to slave for a pittance. But it is you now who are the faithful one," and she drew Esther's face down to hers and kissed her fondly. Tears rose in the daughter's eyes; she seemed to remember with a sense of loss that her mother had never kissed her like that since she was a little child, before Horace was born. "TOO OLD AT FORTY" I had no place to flee unto; and no man careth for my soul.