The floodgates of my mother's heart were open, and she was talking now as much to herself as to me, recalling what had touched her most deeply.
'Two weeks ago a young woman came and stood before me. God knows what she was thinking of as she stood there in a way it made my heart ache to see. She was very, very pretty; very, very young. She stood looking at me so long in silence that I began almost to be afraid. I dared not speak to her first. I have never yet spoken unbidden in that place; I seem to myself to have no right to speak. But, seeking to soften any hard thought she may have had in her mind for me or for herself, I returned her look, kindly I hope, and pityingly too. "I thought I'd make you look at me," she said in a hard voice that I felt was not natural to her; "beggars like you haven't much to be proud of, I should say. Thank the Lord I haven't come to that yet!" I tried to shape an answer, but the words wouldn't leave my lips, and I could only look at her appealingly. Poor girl! she seemed to resent this, and tossed her head, and went away singing. But there was no singing in her heart. I followed her with my eyes, and saw her stop at a public-house; but she hesitated at the door, and did not enter. No; she came back, and stood before me again. "What do you come here for?" she asked, after a little pause. "For food," I answered. She sneered at my answer, and I waited in sorrow for her next words. "Have you got a husband?" "No," I said, wondering why she asked. "No more have I," she said. My thoughts wandered to a happier time, and pictures of brighter days which seem to have passed away for ever came to my mind; but the girl soon brought me back to reality. "Are you a mother?" she asked. "Oh, yes!" I answered, with a sob of thankfulness, for the dear Lord has made my boy a blessing to me. "So am I," she said, with a little laugh that struck me like a knife. "Here--take this; I was going to spend it in drink." And she put sixpence in coppers into my hand, and ran away. But I ran after her, and entreated her to take the money back; but she would not, and grew sullen. I still entreated, and she said, "Very well; give it to me; I'll spend it in gin." What I said to her after this I do not know, I was so grieved and sorry for her; but I told her I would keep the money, and she thanked me for the promise, oh! so humbly and gratefully, and began to cry so piteously and passionately, that my own sorrows seemed light compared with hers. I drew her away to a quiet street, and kissed her and soothed her, and although we had never met before, she clung to me, and blessed me with broken words and sobs. Then, when she was quieter, I asked her where her little one was, and might I go with her and see it? She took me to her room, and I saw her baby--such a pretty little thing!--and I nursed it till it fell asleep, and then tidied up the room, and put the bed straight. Ah, my darling! I could not repeat all that the poor girl said. I went out and spent fourpence of the sixpence she gave me in food for the baby, and she was not angry with me for it. I have been to see her and her baby twice since that night, and my heart has ached often when I have thought of them. If I were not as poor as I am, I would try to be a friend to them. But, alas! what can I do? Yet there is not a night I have stood in that place that I have not lifted my heart to God for the goodness that has been shown to me. How good a thing it is for the poor to help the poor as they do! God sweeten their lives for them!'
We were silent for a long time after this. I broke the silence by whispering,
'Mother, I didn't spend the halfpenny; it is on the mantelshelf now.'
'Dear child! I am sorry and glad. It is the first halfpenny I ever received in charity, and it was given to me by a little child.'
'Let me look at it, mother.'
She took it from the mantelshelf, and placed it in my hands.
'I can see the angel's face now,' I said. 'It is the fairy in a cotton-print dress.'
My mother nodded with a sweet smile.
'And the fairy is a little girl?'