Mrs. Campbell, the lady who had called upon Mrs. May, felt quite certain that, in obtaining Jane for a nurse, she had been fortunate.  She gave, confidently, to her care, a babe seven months old.  At first, from a mother’s natural instinct, she kept her eye upon Jane; but every thing going on right, she soon ceased to observe her closely.  This was noted by the nurse, who began to breathe with more freedom.  Up to this time, the child placed in her charge had received the kindest attentions.  Now, however, her natural indifference led her to neglect him in various little ways, unnoticed by the mother, but felt by the infant.  Temptations were also thrown in her way by the thoughtless exposure of money and jewelry.  Mrs. Campbell supposed, of course, that she was honest, or she would have been notified of the fact by Mrs. May, of whom she had inquired Jane’s character; and, therefore, never thought of being on her guard in this respect.  Occasionally he could not help thinking that there ought to be more money in her purse than there was.  But she did not suffer this thought to rise into a suspicion of unfair dealing against any one.  The loss of a costly breast pin, the gift of a mother long since passed into the invisible world, next worried her mind; but, even this did not cause her to suspect that any thing was wrong with her nurse.

This the time passed on, many little losses of money and valued articles disturbing and troubling the mind of Mrs. Campbell, until it became necessary to wean her babe.  This duty was assigned to Jane, who took the infant to sleep with her.  On the first night, it cried for several hours—­in fact, did not permit Jane to get more than a few minutes sleep at a time all night.  Her patience was tried severely.  Sometimes she would hold the distressed child with angry violence to her bosom, while it screamed with renewed energy; and then, finding that it still continued to cry, toss it from her upon the bed, and let it lie, still screaming, until fear lest its mother should be tempted to come to her distressed babe, would cause her again to take it to her arms.  A hard time had that poor child of it on that first night of its most painful experience in the world.  It was scolded, shaken, and even whipped by the unfeeling nurse, until, at last, worn out nature yielded, and sleep threw its protecting mantle over the wearied babe.

“How did you get along with Henry?” was the mother’s eager question, as she entered Jane’s room soon after daylight.

“O very well, ma’am,” returned Jane.

“I heard him cry dreadfully in the night.  Several times I thought I would come in and take him.”

“Yes, ma’am, he did scream once or twice very hard; but he soon gave up, and has long slept as soundly as you now see him.”

“Dear little fellow!” murmured the mother in a trembling voice.  She stooped down and kissed him tenderly—­tears were in her eyes.

On the next night, Henry screamed again for several hours.  Jane, had she felt an affection for the child, and, from that affection been led to soothe it with tenderness, might easily have lulled it into quiet; but her ill-nature disturbed the child.  After worrying with it a long time, she threw it from her with violence, exclaiming as she did so—­