“Well, Sir,” gasped Mrs. Sheppard.

“Well, my dear, I’ve a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable.  All I can say is, it’s well meant; and I may add, I’d have made it five minutes ago, if you’d given me the opportunity.”

“Pray come to the point, Sir,” said Mrs. Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble.

“I am coming to the point, Joan.  The more haste, the worse speed—­better the feet slip than the tongue.  However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal’s this:—­I’ve taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I’ve no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. Wood, (for I never do anything without consulting my better half,) I’ll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter.”

The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast.

“Well, Joan,” said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, “what say you?—­silence gives consent, eh?”

Mrs. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion.

“Shall I take the babby home with me!” persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.

“I cannot part with him,” replied the widow, bursting into tears; “indeed, indeed, I cannot.”

“So I’ve found out the way to move her,” thought the carpenter; “those tears will do her some good, at all events.  Not part with him!” added he aloud.  “Why you wouldn’t stand in the way of his good fortune sure_ly_?  I’ll be a second father to him, I tell you.  Remember what the conjuror said.”

“I do remember it, Sir,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, “and am most grateful for your offer.  But I dare not accept it.”

“Dare not!” echoed the carpenter; “I don’t understand you, Joan.”

“I mean to say, Sir,” answered Mrs. Sheppard in a troubled voice, “that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world.  I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—­I have only him.”

“If I ask you to part with him, my good woman, it’s to better his condition, I suppose, ain’t it?” rejoined Wood angrily; for, though he had no serious intention of carrying his proposal into effect, he was rather offended at having it declined.  “It’s not an offer,” continued he, “that I’m likely to make, or you’re likely to receive every day in the year.”

And muttering some remarks, which we do not care to repeat, reflecting upon the consistency of the sex, he was preparing once more to depart, when Mrs. Sheppard stopped him.

“Give me till to-morrow,” implored she, “and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word.”

“Take time to consider of it,” replied Wood sulkily, “there’s no hurry.”