“Are you my mother?” asked Tom, in amazement.
“Yes, Jenny, your own mother, never again, I hope, to be separated from you;” and Mrs. Lindsay clasped the astonished girl to her arms.
“You don’t look a bit like granny,” she said, scanning the refined and beautiful features of her mother.
“You mean Margaret,” said Mrs. Lindsay, with a shudder. “She is a wicked woman. It was she who stole you away from me years ago.”
“I played such a trick on her,” said Tom, laughing. “She wanted to carry me off out West; but I left her, and she’s goin’ on alone.”
“Come in, my darling,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “Your home is with your mother henceforth. You have much to tell me. I want to know how you have passed all these years of cruel separation.”
She took Tom up to her own chamber, and drew from her the whole story. Many parts gave her pain, as Tom recounted her privations and ill-treatment; but deep thankfulness came at the end, because the child so long-lost was at last restored.
“To-morrow I must buy you some new clothes,” said she. “Are these all you have?”
“Yes,” said Tom, “they are a good deal nicer than I used to wear.”
“You shall have better still. I will try to make up to you for your past privations.”