"Please God, my baby shall never want for anything as long as I can work for him. But, Jenny, my trouble will be a lesson to you. I hope you will always be a good girl, and never allow yourself to be led away; you promise me?"
"Yes, I promise."
"A 'ome like ours, a drunken father, and now that poor mother is gone it will be worse than ever. Jenny, you are the eldest and must do your best to look after the younger ones, and as much as possible to keep father from the public-house. I shall be away; the moment I'm well enough I must look out for a place."
"That's just what I came to speak to you about. Father is going to Australia. He is that tired of England, and as he lost his situation on the railway he has made up his mind to emigrate. It is pretty well all arranged; he has been to an agency and they say he'll 'ave to pay two pounds a 'ead, and that runs to a lot of money in a big family like ours. So I'm likely to get left, for father says that I'm old enough to look after myself. He's willing to take me if I gets the money, not without. That's what I came to tell yer about."
Esther understood that Jenny had come to ask for money. She could not give it, and lapsed into thinking of this sudden loss of all her family. She did not know where Australia was; she fancied that she had once heard that it took months to get there. But she knew that they were all going from her, they were going out on the sea in a great ship that would sail and sail further and further away. She could see the ship from her bedside, at first strangely distinct, alive with hands and handkerchiefs; she could distinguish all the children—Jenny, Julia, and little Ethel. She lost sight of their faces as the ship cleared the harbour. Soon after the ship was far away on the great round of waters, again a little while and all the streaming canvas not larger than a gull's wing, again a little while and the last speck on the horizon hesitated and disappeared.
"What are you crying about, Esther? I never saw yer cry before. It do seem that odd."
"I'm so weak. Mother's death has broken my heart, and now to know that I shall never see any one of you again."
"It do seem 'ard. We shall miss you sadly. But I was going to say that father can't take me unless I finds two pounds. You won't see me stranded, will you, Esther?"
"I cannot give you the money, Jenny. Father has had too much of my money already; there's 'ardly enough to see me through. I've only four pounds left. I cannot give you my child's money; God knows how we shall live until I can get to work again."
"You're nearly well now. But if yer can't help me, yer can't. I don't know what's to be done. Father can't take me if I don't find the money."