But in Nelly herself Michael Connor had at least one true mourner.  She forgot all her father’s carelessness and neglect, and remembered only that he was her father, who used in days long past, when her mother was alive, to take her on his knee and call her his “darlint.”  When it broke fully on her mind that she should never see him again—­that he had left her for ever, as her mother had done—­her grief for a while knew no control.  Poor child, she had literally no one in the world “belonging to her,” so far as she knew, and she felt utterly desolate and forlorn.  Finding but little comfort at home, where her new mother’s cold, unfeeling remarks only aggravated her sorrow, she betook herself to Lucy, who had just heard, with great concern, of Nelly’s bereavement.  She did her best to comfort her; and though at first the kind words only seemed to make the tears flow faster, by degrees the child was soothed and calmed, and able to listen to Mr. Raymond when he laid his hand kindly on her head and told her that she must look to God as her Father now, and must go and “tell Jesus” all her troubles.  Then he made her repeat after him the verse, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.”

“But, Miss Lucy,” said Nelly, as she was going away, “where is it I’m going to live now?”

“Why, is your mother going away?”

“Niver a bit, miss; but she says she’s kept me long enough now, and she won’t keep me any longer.”

Lucy could scarcely believe that this could be more than one of Mrs. Connor’s meaningless threats, and tried to reassure Nelly that it would be all right.  But Mrs. Steele, knowing Mrs. Connor’s hard, selfish nature, was by no means so sure that there might not be something in it, and was not surprised when she appeared next day to say that she thought Nelly’s grand friends might do something for her now her poor father was gone, and she had no one to look to her.

“But she has you, of course,” Mrs. Steele replied.  “We shall be very glad to help you as far as possible, but you have shown yourself well able to support your family.”

“She ain’t one of my family,” replied Mrs. Connor, “and I’ve kept her long enough for all the good I’ve ever got out of her; so I don’t see that it’s any of my business to take the bit out of my children’s mouths and put it into hers.”

Mrs. Connor would probably not have come to this decision had she not been less dependent than formerly on Nelly’s assistance.  But as her youngest child was now able to run alone, and the eldest could, on an emergency, take care of the rest, and as she now took in most of her washing, she had less need for an additional worker, involving an additional mouth to be fed.  Besides, Nelly was a “growing girl,” she reflected, and would be always costing her more for food and clothing, so that to be rid of her maintenance would be so much clear gain.  She was therefore inexorable in her determination that Nelly should not remain with her, unless, indeed, the ladies would pay for her board—­a proposition which Mrs. Steele declined to entertain.