“Poor old Nanny! she had suffered much.”

“Yes, and there are great excuses to be made for her; and as we feel so here, surely there will be indulgence from above, where the secrets of all hearts are known.  She was not insane, Tom; but from the time that she supposed that her son had been gibbeted, there was something like insanity about her:  the blow had oppressed her brain—­it had stupefied her, and blunted her moral sense of right and wrong.  She told me, after you had communicated to her that her son was in the hospital, and had died penitent, that she felt as if a heavy weight had been taken off her mind; that she had been rid of an oppression which had ever borne down her faculties—­a sort of giddiness and confusion in the brain which had made her indifferent, if not reckless, to everything; and I do believe it, from the change which took place in her during the short time which has since elapsed.”

“What change was that? for you know that I have been too busy during the short intervals I have been here to call upon her.”

“A change in her appearance and manners.  She appeared to recover in part her former position in life; she was always clean in her person, as far as she could be in such a shop as hers; and if she had nothing else, she always had a clean cap and apron.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes; and on Sundays she dressed very neat and tidy.  She did not go to church, but she purchased a large Bible and a pair of spectacles, and was often to be seen reading it at the door; and when I talked to her she was glad to enter upon serious things.  I spoke to her about her fondness for money, and pointed out that it was a sin.  She replied that she did feel very fond of money for a long while, for she always thought that some one was nigh her snatching at it, and had done so ever since her son had robbed her; but that since she knew what had become of him she did not feel fond of it—­that is, not so fond of it as before; and I believe that such was the case.  Her love of money arose from her peculiar state of mind.  She had many comforts about her house when she died which were not in it when I called to see her at the time when she was first ill; but her purchasing the large Bible on account of the print was to me a satisfactory proof that she had no longer such avaricious feelings.”

“I am very glad to hear all this, Anderson, I assure you, for she was one of my earliest friends, and I loved her.”

“Not more than she loved you, Tom.  Her last words almost were calling down blessings on your head; and, thanks be to God! she died as a Christian should die, and, I trust, is now happy.”

“Amen!” said I; for I was much moved at Anderson’s discourse.