“No, they are no value, except to prove to you that Poor Jack has not forgotten your kindness, and never will.”
“That I believe; and believing that, I suppose you have not forgotten old Nanny.”
“No; but I have not seen her yet. I intend to go to-morrow; but I have something for the doctor. He is not at home, will you give it to him?”
“Certainly: you know I am as good as a mother to him.”
“I think the doctor would rather you’d be a wife to him.”
“That’s a foolish idea that’s in many people’s heads, Tom, which I’ll thank you to contradict. I never intend to change my name.”
“Don’t make too sure,” replied I; and I added at a venture (why, I know not, but I had formed the idea in my mind that St. Felix was not her proper name), “you may change it yet for your real name.”
“Tom, Tom,” cried the widow, “what do you mean?”
“Nothing,” replied I, “I was only joking.”
“Well then, don’t talk such nonsense, or I shall send you out of the shop.”