"We must call at some house and seek a shelter for the night, for indeed I am unable to walk further."
It required not this remark from her to satisfy the beholder of her inability to proceed, for extreme fatigue and exhaustion were visible in her every motion.
She approached the door of a handsome dwelling situated in the central portion of the village, and rang the bell. The door was opened by an elderly-looking man, who accosted her civilly and seemed waiting for her to make known her errand.
In a low and timid voice the woman asked him if he would allow herself and child to rest for the night beneath his roof?
He replied, in a voice that was decidedly gruff and crusty,—
"There are two hotels in the village; we keep no travellers here," and immediately closed the door in her face.
Could he have seen the forlorn expression that settled on her countenance when, on regaining the street, she took her little boy by the hand and again walked slowly
onward—his heart must indeed have been hard if he had not repented of his unkindness.
After walking a short distance further, the woman paused before a house of much humbler appearance than the former one, and, encouraged by the motherly appearance of an elderly lady who sat knitting at her open door in the lingering twilight, she drew nigh to her, and asked if she would shelter herself and child for the night.
The old lady regarded her earnestly for a moment; she seemed, however, to be impressed favorably by her appearance, for her voice was very pleasant, as she replied to her request,—