“Do tell if you are all alone over here?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you know nobody?”
“No.”
“Where do you—how do you—mercy on us! I never hearn of such a thing. How old are you?”
“Seven.”
“Why didn’t you stay to home?”
“Because we had nothing to eat, and I wanted to come here, and earn money, and go back and buy something for my mother; and I told the captain so, and he said he would bring me over, if I thought I could take care of myself when I got here.”
“Well, how was I to know all that?” said Betty, penitently. “I’ve got a mother too. Won’t you have another bit of bread and butter? don’t you like sugar on your bread and butter? I wish master would be done with them chickens, so that I could give you a drumstick. Ah, here comes the dish; set it down here, Sukey; this child don’t know a living soul out of Ireland, and has come away on here to earn his own living; have this side-bone, Johnny? and this wing? To think I should have spoken so cross to the child; but how was I to know that he was all alone in the world? these children who come begging to the back door here, tell such fibs, and are such little cheats—it’s enough to dry up all the milk of human kindness in a body; eat away, Johnny! I hope master will keep you here, you might run of errands, and the like, for old Pomp is growing stiff in the joints, and there’s a power of running to be done, for mistress is as full of notions as an old maid; but that’s always the way with folks that has no children.”
“You think so, do you, Betty?” said Mr. Bond, laughing; “well, I don’t think you will have that to say after to-day; there will be one child in the house, at least; I have been talking to Pomp about keeping Johnny to help in the carriage-house, and do little jobs generally; and if you can tidy him up, Betty, for Mrs. Bond is not willing to have any trouble about it, he can stay. I think a little water, a hard brush, and a new suit of clothes would improve him; and Pomp says that he can sleep with him in the chamber over the carriage-house.”