'Help the poor girl, and come with me.' The woman went towards the girl, and trying to assist her to rise, said,-- 'Now, Gladys, asthore! An' shure, my leddy, she's a thrue Welsh name.
I'll help ye, my darlin', there! Och! an it's betther she is already, as soon as she heerd of a night's lodgin'.' The young man who was kneeling by the girl just now, goes to her other side, and succeeds in supporting her by putting his arm round her waist, whilst the woman holds her by one arm; and thus they follow the good mistress of the farm, followed in their turn by the rest of the party.
They move slowly down the road, underneath the fine oak and ash trees that shelter the back of the farm, until they reach a large farm-yard, wherein some thirty fine cows, of Welsh, English, and Alderney breed, are yielding their rich milk at the hands of some three or four rough-looking men and women who are kneeling down to get it.
'Come here, Tom,' cries the mistress, authoritatively.
Tom gives a knowing wink to the nearest girl, mutters, 'Irish again,' and goes to his mistress.
'See if there is good clean straw spread in the barn, Tom, and make haste.' Tom goes to a large building outside the farm-yard, whither his mistress and the rest follow him.
'Plenty of straw, ma'am, good enough for such folk,' says Tom.
'Spread some more, and shut the window in the loft.' This is done in a slow grumbling way.
The barn is a large, clean, airy building, that must look like a palace to these ragged, way-worn people.
'Now you may sleep here to-night, provided you go off early and quietly to-morrow morning.

There is a good pump down below, where you can get water to wash yourselves, and at eight o'clock I shall lock the barn door; my husband always insists upon that.' Thus speaks the mistress.
'Heaven bless his honour, we're all honest.

We wouldn't harm a hair of your blessed heads.

We heerd o' ye many a time, and o' the good lodgin' and supper--the sun shine upon ye--ye give to the poor Irish on their thravels.' Thus answers the Irishwoman.
'You tell one another then! And this is why we have more calls than any one else!' 'The Lord love ye, and why wouldn't we?
'Tis the good as always gets the blessin'.' Whilst this little conversation is going on, the girl, Gladys, is laid upon the shawl-blanket of the woman who wears that singular attire, and a pillow, half rags, half straw, is contrived for her head.

The bonnet is taken off to increase her comfort, and, as her head falls languidly back upon the rough pillow, a wan, thin face is disclosed, that, from the regular outline of the profile, must be pretty, under happier circumstances, and is interesting.
Whilst the guests prepare to make themselves comfortable in different ways, the kindly farm-lady leaves them, amid many and enthusiastic blessings, and returns to the house.
In less than half-an-hour she reappears, followed by a female servant, both carrying tokens of a true hospitality that expects no return.