“Now, Jack, tell me the truth, who did you give it to, your father, or your little sister; or who? for I can’t understand how a person could give away one hundred pounds in any way or to anybody.”
“Well, then, I gave it to my mother.”
“Your mother! your mother, who has hated you, wished you dead, half-starved you! Jack, is that possible?”
“My mother has not been fond of me, but she has worked hard for my sister. This hundred pounds will enable her to do much better than she does now, and it’s of no use to me. Mother may love me yet, Nanny.”
“She ought to,” replied old Nanny, gravely; and then she covered her face up with her hands. “Oh, what a difference!” ejaculated she at last.
“Difference, mother, difference? in what?”
“Oh, Jack, between you and—somebody else. Don’t talk about it any more, Jack,” said Nanny, casting her eyes down to the presents I had brought her. “I recollect the time,” continued she, evidently talking to herself, “that I had plenty of presents; ay, and when it was thought a great favour if I would accept them. That was when I was young and beautiful; yes, people would laugh if they heard me,—young and very beautiful, or men’s smiles and women’s hate were thrown away—
“‘Why so pale and wan, fond lover;
Prithee, why so pale?’
“Yes, yes, bygones are bygones.”
I was much surprised to hear old Nanny attempt to sing, and could hardly help laughing; but I restrained myself. She didn’t speak again, but continued bent over one of the baskets, as if thinking about former days. I broke the silence by saying:—