"My owdest child was thirteen when he died," said she.

"Eh, he was a fine child.

We lost him about two years sin'.

He was killed.

He fell down that little pit o' Wright's, Mr Lea, he did." Then the little woman began to cry, "Eh, my poor lad! Eh, my fine little lad! Oh dear,--oh dear o' me!" What better thing could we have done than to say nothing at such a moment.