"That's what's the matter! Now go 'way wid your blarney, and don't be talking to me. It's Mike O'Shane that has a soft spot in his heart, but he can't do no more for ye. That's the truth, and ye must move to-day."
The landlord went into the house again, for more of the furniture. As he had represented, it was, doubtless, a hard case for him; but it was infinitely harder for the poor woman, and Fanny was too deeply interested now to leave the spot. What she had known of human misery was as nothing compared with the suffering of this poor mother.
"What's the matter, ma'am?" asked Fanny of her, when the harsh landlord had gone into the house.
"This man is my landlord, and he is turning me out of the house because I cannot pay him the rent," sobbed the woman. "I wouldn't care, if it wasn't for poor Jenny."
"Who is Jenny?"
"She is my daughter. She has been sick, very sick, for nearly a year, and she cannot live much longer. The doctor gave her up six months ago."
"How old is Jenny?"
"She is fourteen; and she is such a patient child! She never complains of anything, though I am not able to do much for her," replied the afflicted mother, as her tears broke forth afresh at the thought of the sufferer.
"Haven't you any place to go if this man turns you out of the house?" asked Fanny.
"No, no!" groaned the woman, bursting out into a terrible paroxysm of grief.