"Will you give me a piece of bread? for I am very hungry." He cast on me a glance of surprise; but without answering，he cut a thick slice from his loaf，and gave it to me. I imagine he did not think I was a beggar，but only an eccentric sort of lady，who had taken a fancy to his brown loaf. As soon as I was out of sight of his house，I sat down and ate it.

I could not hope to get a lodging under a roof，and sought it in the wood I have before alluded to. But my night was wretched，my rest broken: the ground was damp，the air cold: besides，intruders passed near me more than once，and I had again and again to change my quarters: no sense of safety or tranquillity befriended me. Towards morning it rained; the whole of the following day was wet. Do not ask me，reader，to give a minute account of that day; as before，I sought work; as before，I was repulsed; as before，I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked.

She stared at me. "Mother!" she exclaimed，"there is a woman wants me to give her these porridge."

"Well，lass," replied a voice within，"give it her if she"s a beggar. T" pig doesn"t want it."

The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hands and I devoured it ravenously.

As the wet twilight deepened，I stopped in a solitary bridle-path，which I had been pursuing an hour or more.

"My strength is quite failing me," I said in a soliloquy. "I feel I cannot go much farther. Shall I be an outcast again this night?