"No, thank you, sir. One place is as good as another to me. Besides, I haven't any money."
"Very well," said the agent, turning away indifferently. "Simmons will tell you when it's time."
All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I thought sometimes she must be asleep, but when I looked more closely I could see every once in a while a great tear rolling down her cheek, which she would wipe away hastily with her cotton handkerchief.
The depot was crowded, and all was bustle and hurry until the 9.50 train going east came due; then every passenger left except the old lady. It is very rare, indeed, that any one takes the night express, and almost always after ten o'clock the depot becomes silent and empty.
The ticket agent put on his greatcoat, and, bidding Simmons keep his wits about him for once in his life, departed for home.
But he had no sooner gone than that functionary stretched himself out upon the table, as usual, and began to snore vociferously.
Then it was I witnessed such a sight as I never had before and never expect to again.
The fire had gone down—it was a cold night, and the wind howled dismally outside. The lamps grew dim and flared, casting weird shadows upon the wall. By and by I heard a smothered sob from the corner, then another. I looked in that direction. She had risen from her seat, and oh! the look of agony on the poor pinched face.
"I can't believe it," she sobbed, wringing her thin, white hands. "Oh! I can't believe it! My babies! my babies! how often have I held them in my arms and kissed them; and how often they used to say back to me, 'Ise love you, mamma,' and now, O God! they've turned against me. Where am I going? To the poorhouse! No! no! no! I cannot! I will not! Oh, the disgrace!"
And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in prayer: