farmer, that you, who are come of such honest parents, might be ashamed of having done as you have done. Your father and mother were as good people as any in the parish, and if it had not been for the respect I had for them, you should never have worked for me.

So saying he turned into the house, and my new mistress bade me follow the other hay-makers out of the yard.

Oh! with what a sorrowful heart did I walk slowly after the rest, till we came into a wide field which is skirted on one side by that large wood now in our view, and is bordered on the other by the brook which runs into the river by the mill.

My companions had heard what the farmer and his wife had said to me, and I soon found what they thought of me, for the old women looked very sour at me, and the young ones laughed and whispered, glancing slily at the same time at me.

But what grieved me most was that the the young men spoke to me as if they thought lightly of me. I however went on with my work, keeping close with the rest of the women, and saying very little.

Towards mid-day I became very weary with my work; my knees trembled, and I had a constant pain in my side. However I continued my work till evening.

Yet tired as I was, I was unable to sleep, for I felt feverish, and my mouth was parched with very great thirst.

I went to the farmer's again the next day, although I was fitter far to keep my bed; and as I behaved with modesty, and returned not evil speaking for evil speaking, my companions the hay-makers began to think better of me. The women in particular, treated me with more kindness: I could see however that the young men still continued to think lightly of me.

The weather being very hot, the hay was ready to carry by Friday.

I was worse this day than I had ever been before, yet I strove to keep up and to do my work.

I was making up the hay into large, haycocks, with two or three more young women at the lower end of the meadow; when the young men came with the waggon in at the gate which is at the top of the field. Amongst these was William Ball the farmer's nephew, the young man of whom I have spoken before, whom I had never seen since I ran away from him at Mrs. Bennet's.

It seems that he being a very bad young man, had never forgiven me for this slight as he thought it; and he was mightily pleased when he heard at Ludlow, where he had spent the few last days with other young

men who had gone there to the fair, of the disgrace I had fallen into on account of the Captain. And it was a new pleasure to him to be told by his uncle, when he came home, that I had run away from my service, and had come to him for work.

So soon as he came to that part of the field where I was, he called out to me from the waggon where he was loading the hay.

Well, Mrs. Susan, and how did you leave the Captain? or, to speak more properly, how did the Captain leave you? For they tell me in Ludlow, that he is gone out of the country, and taken with him by way of company, Charlotte Owen, the huckster's daughter. Then he laughed aloud.

I was like one thunder-struck when I heard these words: my rake fell from my hand, and my eyes were filled immediately with tears when I thought of the wickedness of Charlotte and the Captain, and of the dreadful evil which I had escaped.

I will not repeat all the foolish jokes of William Ball, when he saw my grief and distress. Indeed I paid but little heed to what he said. At length one of the old women told him that he might be ashamed of himself for making a jest of what did not seem to her any jesting matter? that with respect to me, she had seen no harm by me

since she had become acquainted with me; that she believed I was a very modest girl; and as to the other poor young woman who had gone off with the Captain, she did not see what there was to laugh at in a poor creature's running soul and body into ruin and misery

I never thonght well of that Charlotte Owen, said a grave elderly man, the farmer's head servant, who was just come into the field with the dinner for the labourers ; no good ever comes of a girl who is always shewing herself and her fine clothes in the streets, nodding and courteseying, and laughing at every young fellow who chances to go by. I have seen enough of her when I have been in town on a market day.

But is it true, said I, that she is gone with the Captain?

Aye, true enough, answered William : so, my good girl, wipe away your tears, and think no more of the Captain; for I promise you he thinks no more of you. Mrs. Owen herself was the person who told me of Miss Charlotte's freak; never did I see a woman in such a taking? she stormed, and raved; and I verily think that she would have killed her daughter, if she could have laid her hands upon her.

Well, but, said one of the young women, when did all this happen?

Why you know, answered William Ball, that the Captain and his men marched out of town on Monday morning, and about the middle of the day on Monday, Chariotte was missing. But as she often went from home without saying any thing to her mo ther, Mrs. Owen thought nothing of it till night came on, and that dreadful storm of thunder and lightning; then the old lady began to be a little frightened, and she sent to all her neighbours, but could hear nothing of her daughter. And it was but yesterday that she was told that Miss had marched after the Captain; although some folk do not scruple to say that his honour could well have dispensed with her company. Then he laughed again, and almost all the young men, and some of the young women, joined in his mirth.

But the old servant shook his head, and turning to a woman who stood by hum, be said, I do not quite relish all this jesting; none but fools, as the seripture say, would mock at sin. Prov. xiv 9. .

Very true, replied the woman: for my part I do not feel much disposed to laugh. I cannot help feeling very sorry for the poor mother of that bold hussy.

Why as to that, returned the old man, one is very sorry for any one who is inconsiderate, and lays up for himself stores of misery.