Some one must have counted her face bonnie once.

She was scarce older than my own lass, but she'd a poor weak barn at her breast and a wee lad that trudged at her side.

She was wet and cold, and asked for rest and shelter for herself and the children-rest and shelter," repeated the tailor in a lower tone, as though muttering to himself,--"rest and shelter, and from me." "Well ?" inquired Ralph, not noticing Sim's self-reference.
"Well ?" echoed Sim, as though Ralph should have divined the sequel.
"Had the poor creature been turned out of her home ?" "That and worse," said the little tailor, his frame quivering with emotion.

"Do you know the king's come by his own again ?" Sim was speaking in an accent of the bitterest mockery.
"Worse luck," said Ralph; "but what of that ?" "Why," said Sim, almost screaming, "that every man in the land who fought for the Commonwealth eight years ago is like to be shot as a traitor.

Didn't you know that, my lad ?" And the little man put his hands with a feverish clutch on Ralph's shoulders, and looked into his face.
For an instant there was a tremor on the young dalesman's features, but it lasted only long enough for Sim to recognize it, and then the old firmness returned.
"But what of the poor woman and her barns ?" Ralph said, quietly.
"Her husband, an old Roundhead, had fled from a warrant for his arrest.