“Wouldshetakemygloves？”
“No！whatcouldshedowiththem？”
Reader，itisnotpleasanttodwellonthesedetails。Somesaythereisenjoymentinlookingbacktopainfulexperiencepast;butatthisdayIcanscarcelybeartoreviewthetimestowhichIallude:themoraldegradation，blentwiththephysicalsuffering，formtoodistressingarecollectionevertobewillinglydwelton。Iblamednoneofthosewhorepulsedme。Ifeltitwaswhatwastobeexpected，andwhatcouldnotbehelped:anordinarybeggarisfrequentlyanobjectofsuspicion;awell—dressedbeggarinevitablyso。Tobesure，whatIbeggedwasemployment;butwhosebusinesswasittoprovidemewithemployment？Not，certainly，thatofpersonswhosawmethenforthefirsttime，andwhoknewnothingaboutmycharacter。Andastothewomanwhowouldnottakemyhandkerchiefinexchangeforherbread，why，shewasright，iftheofferappearedtohersinisterortheexchangeunprofitable。Letmecondensenow。Iamsickofthesubject。
AlittlebeforedarkIpassedafarm—house，attheopendoorofwhichthefarmerwassitting，eatinghissupperofbreadandcheese。Istoppedandsaid—
“Willyougivemeapieceofbread？forIamveryhungry。”Hecastonmeaglanceofsurprise;butwithoutanswering，hecutathickslicefromhisloaf，andgaveittome。IimaginehedidnotthinkIwasabeggar，butonlyaneccentricsortoflady，whohadtakenafancytohisbrownloaf。AssoonasIwasoutofsightofhishouse，Isatdownandateit。