The poor woman was sitting by the fire with one twin on her lap, and the other on a chair by her side, and a larger child was in the corner by the fire, looking heavy and ill, while others of different ages lounged about listlessly.
She was not untidy, but very pale, and she spoke in a meek, subdued way, as if the ills of life were so heavy on her that she had no spirit even to complain.

She thanked them for their gifts but languidly, and did not visibly brighten when told that her husband was better.
Flora asked when the babes would be christened.
"I can't hardly tell, Miss--'tis so far to go." "I suppose none of the children can go to school?
I don't know their faces there," said Flora, looking at a nice tall, smooth-haired girl of thirteen or fourteen.
"No, Miss--'tis so far.

I am sorry they should not, for they always was used to it where we lived before, and my oldest girl she can work very nicely.

I wish I could get a little place for her." "You would hardly know what to do without her," said Miss Winter.
"No, ma'am; but she wants better food than I can give her, and it is a bad wild place for a girl to grow up.

It is not like what I was used to, ma'am; I was always used to keep to my school and to my church--but it is a bad place to live in here." No one could deny it, and the party left the cottage gravely.