“If I had thought that, I would have come sooner, mother, although it would not have been convenient.”

“I believe you, Jack, I believe you; but you young people can’t feel as an old woman like I do.  There is but one thing I love in the world, Jack, now, and that’s you; and when I get weary of waiting for that one thing, and it don’t come, Jack, it does make a poor old woman like me a little cross for the time.”

I was touched with this last speech of old Nanny’s, who had never shown me any such a decided mark of kindness before.  “Mother,” said I, “depend upon it, whenever I return to Greenwich, you shall be the first person that I come to see after I have been to my mother’s.”

“That’s kind, Jack, and you keep your promise always.  Now sit down; you don’t want to go away already, do you?”

“No, mother, I came to spend the whole morning with you.”

“Well, then, sit down—­take care, Jack, you’ll knock down that bottle.  Now tell me, what do you intend to do with your hundred pounds?”

“I have settled that already, mother.  I have given it away.”

“Already!  Why, the boy has one hundred pounds given him on the morning, and he gives it away before night, Mercy on us! who would ever think of leaving you any money?”

“No one, mother; and I never expect any except what I earn.”

“Why, Jack, do you know how much one hundred pounds is?”

“I think so.”

“Now, Jack, tell me the truth, who did you give it to, your father, or your little sister, or who? for I can’t understand how a person could give away one hundred pounds in any way or to anybody.”

“Well, then, I gave it to my mother.”

“Your mother! your mother, who has hated you, wished you dead, half-starved you!  Jack, is that possible?”

“My mother has not been fond of me, but she has worked hard for my sister.  This hundred pounds will enable her to do much better than she does now, and it’s of no use to me.  Mother may love me yet, Nanny.”

“She ought to,” replied old Nanny, gravely; and then she covered her face up with her hands.  “Oh, what a difference!” ejaculated she at last.

“Difference, mother, difference? in what?”

“Oh, Jack, between you and—­somebody else.  Don’t talk about it any more, Jack,” said Nanny, casting her eyes down to the presents I had brought her.  “I recollect the time,” continued she, evidently talking to herself, “that I had plenty of presents; ay, and when it was thought a great favor.  I would accept them.  That was when I was young and beautiful; yes, people would laugh if they heard me—­young and very beautiful, or men’s smiles and women’s hate were thrown away—­

     “’Why so pale and wan, fond lover;
     Prithee, why so pale?’

“Yes, yes, bygones are bygones.”

I was much surprised to hear old Nanny attempt to sing, and could hardly help laughing; but I restrained myself.  She didn’t speak again, but continued bent over one of the baskets, as if thinking about former days.  I broke the silence by saying: