Nelly’s explanation of her present odd circumstances was very simple, and, on the whole, satisfactory.  In the hot July weather, when she felt her overtasked strength failing, and could scarcely manage to drag herself about to perform her daily round of duty, often scolded for doing it inefficiently, the poor organ-grinder came one day with a face more sorrowful than ever, and told Nelly, weeping, that his daughter—­his povera picciola—­had been carried off by one of those sudden attacks that so soon run their course and snap the thread of weakly lives.  He was so lonely now, he said, he could not bear it!  Would Nelly come and be his daughter, and take poor Teresa’s forsaken tambourine?  She had a voice sweet as Teresa’s own, and he would teach her to sing when he played.  She should have no hard work, and no scolding, and they would take care of each other.

It was a tempting offer to poor Nelly, pining under continual chilling indifference and fault-finding.  While she was hesitating, her mistress, hearing a strange voice in the kitchen, came down in wrath to dismiss the intruder, who rose instantly at the sound of her harsh voice.  “I go, signora,” he said in his foreign English, “and this girl goes with me.  You give her too hard work and hard words.  I will take care for her, and she shall be to me as the povera who is dead!  Come, picciola!”

Mrs. Williams had by this time so far recovered from her amazement as to find voice enough to demand of Nelly whether she was really going to be so ungrateful as to leave a place where she had been so kindly treated, and ruin herself for life, by going off with a wandering character like that.  But Nelly’s reply was ready.  “You said, ma’am, you’d have to send me away because I couldn’t do your work properly.  So I think I’d better go.”

And hurriedly collecting her few possessions, she was ready in two minutes to accompany her newly-found protector.  Mrs. Williams endeavoured to detain her, threatening to “take the law of her.”  But Nelly was determined.  Anything was better than remaining there; and Mrs. Williams, who was somewhat overawed by the Italian’s determined eye, gave up what she saw was a vain attempt.  She shut the door after them with expressive force, and then went up-stairs to discourse to her daughter on the incredible ingratitude and heartlessness of such creatures.

Nelly had faithfully served Mrs. Williams to the utmost of her strength and ability for five months, and her mistress had in return given her food of the poorest quality, and one old print dress of her own, worn almost to tatters.  Yet Mrs. Williams, having herself a pretty hard struggle to make both ends meet, was at least more excusable than those who, themselves abounding in wealth and luxury, grind down, so far as they can, the poor hirelings who may be in their power.