For instance, one day, after she had passed a number of men,

several of whom had paid her the not unusual compliment of

wishing she was their sweetheart, one of the lingerers added,

'Your bonny face, my lass, makes the day look brighter.' And

another day, as she was unconsciously smiling at some passing

thought, she was addressed by a poorly-dressed, middle-aged

workman, with 'You may well smile, my lass; many a one would

smile to have such a bonny face.' This man looked so careworn

that Margaret could not help giving him an answering smile, glad

to think that her looks, such as they were, should have had the

power to call up a pleasant thought. He seemed to understand her

acknowledging glance, and a silent recognition was established

between them whenever the chances of the day brought them across

each other s paths. They had never exchanged a word; nothing had

been said but that first compliment; yet somehow Margaret looked

upon this man with more interest than upon any one else in

Milton. Once or twice, on Sundays, she saw him walking with a

girl, evidently his daughter, and, if possible, still more

unhealthy than he was himself.

One day Margaret and her father had been as far as the fields

that lay around the town; it was early spring, and she had

gathered some of the hedge and ditch flowers, dog-violets, lesser

celandines, and the like, with an unspoken lament in her heart

for the sweet profusion of the South. Her father had left her to

go into Milton upon some business; and on the road home she met

her humble friends. The girl looked wistfully at the flowers,

and, acting on a sudden impulse, Margaret offered them to her.

Her pale blue eyes lightened up as she took them, and her father

spoke for her.

'Thank yo, Miss. Bessy'll think a deal o' them flowers; that hoo

will; and I shall think a deal o' yor kindness. Yo're not of this

country, I reckon?' 'No!' said Margaret, half sighing. 'I come from the South--from

Hampshire,' she continued, a little afraid of wounding his

consciousness of ignorance, if she used a name which he did not

understand.

'That's beyond London, I reckon? And I come fro' Burnley-ways,

and forty mile to th' North. And yet, yo see, North and South has

both met and made kind o' friends in this big smoky place.' Margaret had slackened her pace to walk alongside of the man and

his daughter, whose steps were regulated by the feebleness of the

latter. She now spoke to the girl, and there was a sound of

tender pity in the tone of her voice as she did so that went

right to the heart of the father.




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