We came back to Bangbury by the road; and just as we got near the town, we see a young woman sitting on the bank, and holding her baby in her arms, just as I had got my baby in mine.
"'How dreadful ill and weak she do look, don't she ?' says Emmy.

Before I could say as much as 'Yes,' she stares up at us, and asks in a wild voice, though it wasn't very loud either, if we can tell her the way to Bangbury workhouse.

Having pretty sharp eyes of our own, we both of us knew that a workhouse was no fit place for her.

Her gown was very dusty, and one of her boots was burst, and her hair was draggled all over her face, and her eyes was sunk in her head, like; but we saw somehow that she was a lady--or, if she wasn't exactly a lady, that no workhouse was proper for her, at any rate.

I stooped down to speak to her; but her baby was crying so dreadful she could hardly hear me.