"She was a washwoman, and rented one scantily furnished room from a poor family named Simmons."
"Oh!" cried Old Hurricane.
"Granny, as I called her, was very good to me, and I never suffered cold nor hunger until about eighteen months ago, when Granny took it into her head to go down to Virginia."
"Umph!" exclaimed Old Hurricane.
"When Granny went away she left me a little money and some good clothes and told me to be sure to stay with the people where she left me, for that she would be back in about a month. But, your honor, that was the last I ever saw or heard of poor Granny! She never came back again. And by that I know she must have died."
"Ah-h-h!" breathed the old man, puffing fast.
"The first month or two after Granny left I did well enough. And then, when the little money was all gone, I eat with the Simmonses and did little odd jobs for my food. But by and by Mr. Simmons got out of work, and the family fell into want, and they wished me to go out and beg for them. I just couldn't do that, and so they told me I should look out for myself."
"Were there no customers of your grandmother that you could have applied to for employment?" asked the Recorder.
"No, sir. My Granny's customers were mostly boarders at the small taverns, and they were always changing. I did apply to two or three houses where the landladies knew Granny; but they didn't want me."
"Oh-h-h!" groaned Major Warfield, in the tone of one in great pain.