"I knawn't," was the answer. "Some does one thing, and some another.
Poor folk mun get on as they can."
She seemed to be tired of my questions: and, indeed, what claim
had I to importune her? A neighbour or two came in; my chair was
evidently wanted. I took leave.
I passed up the street, looking as I went at all the houses to the
right hand and to the left; but I could discover no pretext, nor
see an inducement to enter any. I rambled round the hamlet, going
sometimes to a little distance and returning again, for an hour or
more. Much exhausted, and suffering greatly now for want of food,
I turned aside into a lane and sat down under the hedge. Ere many
minutes had elapsed, I was again on my feet, however, and again
searching something -- a resource, or at least an informant. A
pretty little house stood at the top of the lane, with a garden
before it, exquisitely neat and brilliantly blooming. I stopped
at it. What business had I to approach the white door or touch the
glittering knocker? In what way could it possibly be the interest
of the inhabitants of that dwelling to serve me? Yet I drew near
and knocked. A mild-looking, cleanly-attired young woman opened
the door. In such a voice as might be expected from a hopeless
heart and fainting frame -- a voice wretchedly low and faltering
-- I asked if a servant was wanted here?
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