“This is a story,” began Mrs Chelwood when they were all settled, “which I have only just heard myself, and it is a true one. It has something to do with one of Jackie’s presents to-day.”
“I wonder which?” said Jackie, rubbing his knees.
“You shall hear,” said his mother. “Now, listen.
“Once there was a poor mother who lived far away from here in the north of England, and worked in a factory. She had only one child, which she loved so fondly that it was more than all the world to her, and though she had to work very hard all day, it seemed quite light and easy for the child’s sake.”
“Why didn’t the father work?” asked Agatha.
“The father was dead.”
“Was it a boy or a girl?” asked Patrick.
“And what was its name?” added Jennie.
“It was a little girl,” said Mrs Chelwood, “and she was called Betty.”
“But Betty isn’t a name,” objected Agatha, “it’s short for something.”