"E'en from the straw-roof'd cot, the note of joy Flows full and frequent, as the village fair, Whose little wants the busy hour employ, Chaunting some rural ditty, soothes her care.
"Verse softens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings, Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitude of things."
Then, again approaching the cottage, she accosted the young girl, who, with a modest blush, arose from her wheel, and hastily pushing it on one side, invited her unexpected visitors to take a seat, and rest themselves after their walk.
Pleased with their reception, Mrs. Bernard accepted her invitation; and, upon entering into conversation with the young cottager, became more and more interested in her favour. There was that modest reserve in her manner, which is particularly pleasing in youth.
In answer to Mrs. Bernard's questions, she informed her, that she was, in very early life, left an orphan; having lost both her parents before she had attained her third year. Since which time, she had been indebted to an aged grandmother for protection and support.
"We have both worked hard for our livelihood," said Mary, (for that was the young cottager's name,) "and, thank Heaven, we have never wanted the necessaries of life; more we have never wished for. My grandmother weeds in the squire's garden hard by, and I earn a trifle at my wheel."
Just as Mary had said these words, they perceived an old woman approaching. She was leaning on the arm of a fine, healthy-looking youth. A deeper blush, which at this moment dyed the cheeks of the pretty young cottager, told a tale she would wittingly have concealed.
"Is that your grandmother, Mary?" enquired Mrs. Bernard.
Mary. Yes, Madam.
Mrs. B. And the young man is your brother, I suppose?