Mrs. Markland uttered the closing sentence half in reverie; for her thoughts were away from the sick woman and the humble apartment in which she was seated.  There was an abstracted silence of a few moments, and she said: 

“Speaking of your daughter and her husband, Mrs. Elder; they are poor, as I understand you?”

“Oh yes, ma’am; it is hand-to-mouth with them all the time.  James is kind enough to Lotty, and industrious in his way; but his work never turns to very good account.”

“What business does he follow?”

“He’s a cooper by trade; but doesn’t stick to any thing very long.  I call him the rolling stone that gathers no moss.”

“What is he doing in Charleston?”

“He went there as agent for a man in New York, who filled his head with large ideas.  He was to have a share in the profits of a business just commenced, and expected to make a fortune in a year or two; but before six months closed, he found himself in a strange city, out of employment, and in debt.  As you said, a little while ago, he dropped the present substance in grasping at a shadow in the future.”

“The way of the world,” said Mrs. Markland.

“Yes, yes; ever looking for the good time coming that never comes,” sighed Mrs. Elder.  “Ah, me,” she added, “I only wish Lotty was with me again.”

“How many children has she?”

“Four.”

“One a baby?”

“Yes, and but three months old.”

“She has her hands full.”

“You may well say that, ma’am; full enough.”

“Her presence, would not, I fear, add much to your comfort, Mrs. Elder.  With her own hands full, as you say, and, I doubt not, her heart full, also, she would not have it in her power to make much smoother the pillow on which your head is lying.  Is she of a happy temper, naturally?”

“Well, no; I can’t say that she is, ma’am.  She is too much like her mother:  ever looking for a brighter day in the future.”

“And so unconscious of the few gleams of sunshine that play warmly about her feet—­”

“Yes, yes; all very true; very true;” said Mrs. Elder, despondingly.

“The days that look so bright in the future, never come.”

“They have never come to me.”  And the sick woman shook her head mournfully.  “Long, long ago, I ceased to expect them.”  And yet, in almost the next breath, Mrs. Elder said: 

“If Lotty were only here, I think I would be happy again.”

“You must try and extract some grains of comfort even from the present,” replied the kind-hearted visitor.  “Consider me your friend, and look to me for whatever is needed.  I have brought you over some tea and sugar, a loaf of bread, and some nice pieces of ham.  Here are half a dozen fresh eggs besides, and a glass of jelly.  In the morning I will send one of my girls to put everything in order for you, and clear your rooms up nicely.  Let Betsy lay out all your soiled clothing, and I will have it washed and ironed.  So, cheer up; if the day opened with clouds in the sky, there is light in the west at its close.”