"Well, mum, she do fret a good bit," replied the nurse pityingly.
"Poor little thing! We have brought some fruit and some other little things," said the lady, handing a basket to the nurse.
"It's real kind of you, mum!" the old woman cried. "She'll be rare and pleased, she will, poor little missy! You see, mum, it's been a queer, strange life for a child, for she's been everything to him, and she never could go out and play in the street with the other children. That couldn't be, and it was hard for the little thing to see 'em and be shut off from 'em all day as she was; and the master on that account used to make hisself more to her, which will make it all the harder for her now, poor fatherless, motherless lamb that she is!"
"Of course, of course. Poor little maid! And what will become of her, do you think?"
"I can't say for certain, mum; but the mistress, she had relations, and the master wrote to one of them on Thursday. He was sore troubled about little missy, was the master--aye, sore troubled. The letter was sent, and an answer came this morning to say that one of missy's aunts was coming to-day. The vicar opened it."
"Oh, well, I'm glad somebody is coming to the poor child," said the lady who had brought the basket of fruit. "I hope it will be all right. And you will give her the things, nurse?" with a look at the basket.
"Oh, yes, mum," with a curtsey.
There was not only some fruit in the basket, but a pot of jam and a jar of potted meat, a glass of jelly, some sponge cakes, and a packet of sweeties, such as little folk love.
The old nurse carried them into the sitting-room and set them down on the table before a little girl who was sitting beside it.
"See, missy, what a nice basket of good things Mrs. Tracy has brought for you!" the old woman cried. "Wasn't it kind of her?"