My mother was sitting by the fire fire , but poorly in health , and very low in spirits , looking look at it through her tears tear , and desponding despond heavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger , who was already welcomed welcome by some grosses of prophetic pins , in a drawer upstairs , to a world not at all excited on the subject of his arrival arrival ; my mother , I say , was sitting by the fire fire , that bright , windy March afternoon , very timid and sad , and very doubtful of ever coming alive out of the trial that was before her , when , lifting lift her eyes as she dried dry them , to the window opposite , she saw see a strange lady coming come up the garden .