“She was a beauty, an' ye'll look like her when ye're a young lady. Her hair was dark an' curly, an' her figger was graceful. Her big dark eyes was melting, an' she could dance, oh, how she could dance!”
“My mamma danced?” questioned Nancy.
“She danced like a fairy. She was a stage dancer; there's where ye got yer nimble toes, but she died when ye wasn't a year old, an' yer father married that other woman who wa'n't nobody at all. Yer own ma was called ‘Ma'm'selle Nannette’ on the play-bills, an' she was a good woman, a sweet woman as ever lived.”
“I wish I'd known her,” Nancy said, her eyes filled with tears at the thought of the beautiful young mother whom she had never known.
“An' one thing I sent fer yer fer was this,” and Mrs. Ferris took a small box from beneath her shawl. “What's in this box belonged ter yer own ma, an' how Steve got hold of it I don't know. I found it 'mong his things, an' when I see yer ma's name on to it, I knew he'd no right ter hev it. I took an' hid it, an' Steve tore 'round like mad a-tellin' that he'd been robbed, but he didn't say anything ter the perlice, 'cause he knew it didn't b'long ter him in the first place.”
She opened the box and held up a slender gold necklace set with tiny brilliants.
Nancy clasped her hands together, and gasped, “Oh-o-o,” in admiration.
“There's the name on the clasp,” said Mrs. Ferris.
“When I found it I wondered why he hadn't sold it when he was hard up, which was often 'nough, goodness knows, but after I hid it, he said he'd kept holdin' on to it fer the time when he'd need the money more, but I think he was 'fraid ter sell it. Knowin' 'twa'n't his'n, he thought he might git 'cused er hevin' stolen it.”