Old Nanny made no reply, but turned her face away from the light, as if in obedience to my orders.  I locked the outer door and hastened home.

I found my mother and Virginia sitting in the nice clean room, the fire blazing cheerfully and the breakfast on the table, and I could not help making the contrast in my own mind between it and the dirty abode I had just left.  I ran into the back kitchen to wash my face and hands, and then returned, kissed Virginia, and wished my mother “Good-morning.”

Why, I do not know, but she was in one of her worst of humors.

“Don’t come near me, or near your sister Virginia,” said she sharply; “who knows what vermin you may have brought from where you have been staying all night?”

I did feel that what she said might be true.

“Well, mother,” said I, “I won’t come near you if you don’t like, but I want some tea for poor old Nanny.”

“I can’t find tea for old Nannies,” replied she.

“I’ll give her mine, Jack,” cried Virginia.

“Indeed, miss, you’ll do no such thing,” said my mother; “and sit up properly to table, instead of hanging your head down in that way; and don’t pour your tea in your saucer—­that’s vulgar!”

“The tea’s so hot, mamma!” said Virginia.

“Then wait till it’s cool, miss.  Leave the teapot alone, sir!”

“I’ll thank you for some tea, mother,” replied I.  “I shall give my breakfast to old Nanny.”

“You’ll take no breakfast out of this house,” was the reply.

“Why, mother?—­for a poor sick old woman.”

“Let her go to the parish.”

I now became angry myself.  I took up the teapot and walked away into the back kitchen.  My mother rose and followed me, insisting upon my putting the teapot down; but I would not, and I poured out the tea into a little milk-can.  I did not answer her, but I felt that I was right and would not give in, and she was afraid to attempt force.  My mother then ran back to the table, caught up the sugar-basin and carried it upstairs, singing as she went, at the highest pitch of her voice: 

     “What are little girls made of, made of
     Sugar and spice, and all that’s nice;
     And that’s what girls are made of!”

While my mother was away, little Virginia poured her cup of tea, which was already sweetened, into the can.  I seized some bread and butter, and before my mother came down I was clear of the house.  Old Nanny made a good breakfast; the doctor came, and said that she was much better and would soon be well.  The doctor had not left long before Peter Anderson came and told me to go and mind my business, and that he would sit by old Nanny.  Old Ben, who had heard of it, also called in, and he sat up with her the next night.

“Did I not tell you that there were others who cared for you, Nanny?” said I, a few days afterward.

“Yes, you did, Jack, but I did not believe you; the world is better than I thought it was.  But how will you pay the doctor, Jack?”