There is a young woman, too, who comes to Nelly for work sometimes, but who can do only the poorer sorts, on whom Nelly spends many a dollar; for she is the daughter of one of her first friends. Can this be Nelly Lambert,—this thin, faded creature, dressed in a poor attempt at widow's mourning? Even so. Nelly ran away at sixteen with a worthless scamp, whose acquaintance she made through a newspaper advertisement, who first neglected and then abused her, enlisted, deserted, and was finally shot as he was trying to make his escape a second time. Mr. Lambert is dead, and his daughter has no dependence save the work of her hands and the charity of old friends of her father's. People have been very kind to her; but she wears out every one's patience by her folly and her peevish ingratitude. Her health is giving way, and she has no better prospect before her than a bed in the hospital in which to spend her last days.
I am glad to give a better account of Kitty Brown. Kitty never forgot the lesson of that Christmas-eve. She had much to struggle with; for bad habits are not easily overcome. But she was in earnest; and she learned where to look for strength and help in her struggles with herself. Kitty is a useful Christian woman, earning the highest wages as nurse in a wealthy family, because, the lady says, she is entirely to be trusted.
Granny still survives, a hale old woman of more than fourscore, walking to church every Sunday, and spelling out her large-print Bible with the help of her glasses. She is still rather fond of talking about the past glories of the Butlers and the splendour of Kilmane Park; and Nelly listens with patience, and even with interest, thankful to know that granny's portion is secured in that better kingdom,—an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away,—that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
THE END.