“De Lor!” she exclaimed, as soon as her informant had concluded his remarks.  “Who would’a believe it?  Poh people, dey is really bad off,” and she hurried to Mrs. Wentworth’s side.

Mrs. Wentworth had paid no attention to the colloquy between the old negro and the policeman; she was engaged in appealing to Mr. Swartz, not to remove her to jail that night.

“You must have some feelings of humanity within you,” she was observing.  “You must have some touch of pity in your heart for my condition.  Do not send me to jail to-night,” she continued in an earnest tone.  “If your own heart is steeled against the sorrows of a helpless and wretched woman; if the sight of that dead face does not awaken a spark of manly pity within you, let me entreat you, by the memory of the mother you once had, not to tear me from the body of my child.  The hours of night will pass of rapidly, and by the dawn of morning my daughter shall be buried.”

This was the first touch of feeling she had manifested, and though no tears bedewed her cheeks, the swelling of her bosom and the anguished look she wore, told of sorrow more terrible than if tears had come.

The wretch was unmoved.  He stood there, not thinking of the solemn and heart-rending scene before him, but of the money he had lost, and the chance of its being found on the person of Mrs. Wentworth.

“Do your duty, policemen,” he said, without appearing as if he had heard her remarks.

“It is well,” she said, and walking up to the bedside of her dead child, she lifted the body until it almost assumed a standing position.  “Farewell child, farewell forever!” she continued, covering the lifeless face with kisses.  “See this!” she said, turning to the men, “see the result of beggary and starvation.  Look upon it, you have had it in your power to save me from this desolation, and rejoice in your work.  Here, take me,” she added, laying down the corpse.  “Take me from the presence of the dead, for if I remain gazing at it much longer, I will indeed go mad.”

Walking up to the old woman, Mrs. Wentworth continued.  “Auntie, I leave my child’s body with you.  See that it is buried and mark the spot where it rests, for oh!  I feel that the day is not far distant when my weary head will rest in peace at last, when that time arrives, I desire to be buried by the remains of her who now lies there.  For the little boy who is here, keep him Auntie, until his father claims him, and should his father never return, take him before some man high in position, and tell him that a wretched mother leaves him to the care of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who died in her service.”

The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst into tears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr. Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was a desire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed.