at me, but I went on with it and with my needle-
work.

"—I can't say that I am quite sure I
dated the receipt right. Could you let me look
at it?"

She laid her frozen cold hand upon mine
and she looked through me when I was forced
to look up from my needlework, but I had
taken the precaution of having on my
spectacles.

"I have no receipt" says she.

"Ah! Then he has got it" I says in a careless
way. "It's of no great consequence. A
receipt's a receipt."

From that time she always had hold of my
hand when I could spare it which was generally
only when I read to her, for of course she and
me had our bits of needlework to plod at and
neither of us was very handy at those little
things, though I am still rather proud of my
share in them too considering. And though she
took to all I read to her, I used to fancy that
next to what was taught upon the Mount she
took most of all to His gentle compassion for
us poor women and to His young life and to how
His mother was proud of him and treasured His
sayings in her heart. She had a grateful look
in her eyes that never never never will be out of
mine until they are closed in my last sleep, and
when I chanced to look at her without thinking
of it I would always meet that look, and she
would often offer me her trembling lip to kiss,
much more like a little affectionate half-broken-
hearted child than ever I can imagine any grown
person.

One time the trembling of this poor lip
was so strong and her tears ran down so fast
that I thought she was going to tell me all
her woe, so I takes her two hands in mine and
I says:

"No my dear not now, you had best not try
to do it now. Wait for better times when you
have got over this and are strong, and then you
shall tell me whatever you will. Shall it be
agreed?"

With our hands still joined she nodded her
head many times, and she lifted my hands and
put them to her lips and to her bosom.

"Only one word now my dear" I says. "Is
there any one?"

She looked inquiringly "Any one?"

"That I can go to?"

She shook her head.

"No one that I can bring?"

She shook her head.

"No one is wanted by me my dear. Now
that may be considered past and gone."

Not much more than a week afterwards—for
this was far on in the time of our being so
together—I was bending over at her bedside
with my ear down to her lips, by turns listening
for her breath and looking for a sign of life in
her face. At last it came in a solemn way—not
in a flash but like a kind of pale faint light
brought very slow to the face.

She said something to me that had no sound
in it, but I saw she asked me:

"Is this death?"

And I says "Poor dear poor dear, I think
it is."

Knowing somehow that she wanted me to
move her weak right hand, I took it and laid it
on her breast and then folded her other hand
upon it, and she prayed a good good prayer
and I joined in it poor me though there
were no words spoke. Then I brought the
baby in its wrappers from where it lay, and I
says:

"My dear this is sent to a childless old
woman. This is for me to take care of."

The trembling lip was put up towards my
face for the last time, and I dearly kissed it.

"Yes my dear" I says. " Please God! Me
and the Major."

I don't know how to tell it right, but I saw
her soul brighten and leap up, and get free and
fly away in the grateful look

          *          *          *          *          *

So this is the why and wherefore of its coming
to pass my dear that we called him Jemmy,
being after the Major his own godfather with
Lirriper for a surname being after myself, and
never was a dear child such a brightening thing
in a Lodgings or such a playmate to his
grandmother as Jemmy to this house and me, and
always good and minding what he was told (upon
the whole) and soothing for the temper and
making everything pleasanter except when he
grew old enough to drop his cap down Wozenham's
Airy and they wouldn't hand it up to him,
and being worked into a state I put on my
best bonnet and gloves and parasol with the
child in my hand and I says "Miss Wozenham
I little thought ever to have entered your house
but unless my grandson's cap is instantly
restored, the laws of this country regulating the
property of the Subject shall at length decide
betwixt yourself and me, cost what it may." With a
sneer upon her face which did strike me I must
say as being expressive of two keys but it may
have been a mistake and if there is any doubt
let Miss Wozenham have the full benefit of it as
is but right, she rang the bell and she says
"Jane, is there a street-child's old cap down our
Airy?" I says " Miss Wozenham before your
housemaid answers that question you must allow
me to inform you to your face that my grandson
is not a street-child and is not in the habit
of wearing old caps. In fact" I says "Miss
Wozenham I am far from sure that my grandson's
cap may not be newer than your own"
which was perfectly savage in me, her lace being
the commonest machine-make washed and torn
besides, but I had been put into a state to begin
with fomented by impertinence. Miss Wozenham
says red in the face " Jane you heard my
question, is there any child's cap down our
Airy?" " Yes Ma'am'" says Jane " I think I
did see some such rubbish a lying there."
"Then" says Miss Wozenham " let these
visitors out, and then throw up that worthless
article out of my premises." But here the child
who had been staring at Miss Wozenham with