“Well, Jack,” said she, “so you are come at last!  I thought you would have been here yesterday, but nobody cares about an old woman like me.  I heard all about you, and how you took the privateer, and how the Company have given you a hundred pounds; and when I heard that I said, Jack (Poor Jack that was, who came begging to old Nanny to lend him money) will not come to see me, he’ll be too proud.  Besides,’ I said, ’his family is getting up in the world:  there’s a baronet and his lady who have taken them under their protection, and there’s lawyer Wilson calls at the house.  Oh, dear me! it’s the way of us all.’”

“And so you said all that to yourself, did you?” replied I.

“Yes, and a great deal more, too.”

“Then, mother, you did me injustice.  I could not well come before; I had to see my father and mother and my sister, and I had business to transact.”

“Mercy on us! business to transact!  Poor Jack had business to transact!  Here’s a change from the time that his whole business was to touch his hat for coppers and dip his head in the mud for a penny.”

“Nevertheless, what I say is true, and you are very unjust to accuse me as you have done.  I have always thought of you, and have now with me several things that I have collected for you.”

“Yes, you promised me.  Jack, you do keep your promises; I will say that for you.  Well, what have you got?”

I opened my handkerchief and pulled out several little articles, such as fine worked baskets, shells, etc., and, among the rest, a pound of tea in a leaden canister.

“There, mother, I have brought you them as a present, and I hope you will take them.”

Old Nanny turned them over one by one, rather contemptuously, as I thought, until she came to the tea.  “That may do,” said she.  “Why, Jack, those are all very pretty things, but they are too pretty for my shop.  Why didn’t you bring me some empty ginger beer bottles?  I could have sold them this very morning.”

“Why, mother, I really did not like to ask for such things.”

“No, there it is; you’ve grown so fine all of a sudden.  These are no use, for nobody will come to my shop to buy them.”

“I thought you would like to keep them yourself, mother.”

“Keep them?  Oh, they are keepsakes, are they?  Look you, Jack, if they are to be kept you had better take them away at once, and give them to the young girls.  Girls like keepsakes, old women like money.”

“Well, mother, sell them if you please; they are your own.”

“Sell them? let me see—­yes, I think I know where there is a sort of curiosity-shop, in Church Street; but it’s a long way to walk, Jack, and that—­let me see,” continued she, counting the different articles, “one, two, three—­seven times, Jack.”

“But why not take them all at once?”

“All at once, you stupid boy!  I should get no more for two than for one.  No, no; one at a time, and I may make a few shillings.  Well, Jack, it’s very kind of you, after all, so don’t mind my being a little cross.  It was not on account of the things, but because you did not come to see me, and I’ve been looking out for you.”