“When they went up to London in the winter to stay with their grandmamma, and walked about in the Square in their little black frocks and crape-trimmed bonnets, the ladies who saw them,—even comparative strangers,—would turn round arid say:—
“‘Poor little things!’
“If visitors came to call at the house, and the children were sent for into the room, there was sure to be a whispered exclamation directly among the grown-up people of, ‘Poor little things!’ But oh, No. 6! the children themselves did not think about it at all. What did they know,—poor little things,—of the real misfortune which had befallen them! They were sorry, of course, at first, when they did not see their mamma as usual, and when she did not come back to them as soon as they expected. But some separation had taken place during her illness; and sometimes before, she had been poorly and got well again; and sometimes she had gone out visiting, and they had had to do without her till she returned; and so, although the days and weeks of her absence went on to months, still it was only the same thing they had felt before, continued rather longer; and meantime the little events of each day rose up to distract their attention. They got up, and dined, and went to bed as usual. They were sometimes merry, sometimes naughty, as usual. People made them nice presents, or sent for them to pleasant treats, as usual—perhaps more than usual; their father did all he could to supply the place of the lost one, but never could name her name; and soon they forgot that they had ever had a mamma at all. Soon? Ay, long before friends and strangers lead left off saying ‘Poor little things’ at sight of them, and long before the black frocks and crape-trimmed bonnets were laid aside, which, indeed, they wore double the usual length of time.”
“And how old were they?” asked No. 6, in a whisper.
“Four and five,” replied Aunt Judy; “old enough to know what they liked and disliked from hour to hour. Old enough to miss what had pleased them, till something else pleased them as well. But not old enough to look forward and know how much a mother is wanted in life; and, therefore, what a terrible loss the loss of a mother is.”
“It’s a very sad story I’m afraid,” remarked No. 6.
“Not altogether,” said Aunt Judy, smiling, “as you shall hear. One day the two little motherless girls went hand in hand across one of the courts of the great Charity Institution in London, where their grandmamma lived, into the old archway entrance, and there they stood still, looking round them, as if waiting for something. The old archway entrance opened into a square, and underneath its shelter there was a bench on one side, and on the other the lodge of the porter, whose business it was to shut up the great gates at night.
“The porter had often before looked at the motherless children as they passed into the shadow of his archway, and said to himself, ‘Poor little things;’ for just so, during many years of his life, he had watched their young mother pass through, and had exchanged words of friendly greeting with her.
“And even now, although it was at least a year and a half since her death, when he saw the waiting children seat themselves on the bench opposite his door, the old thought stole over his mind. How sad that she should have been taken away so early from those little ones! How sad for them to be left! No one—nothing—in this world, could supply the loss of her protecting care.—Poor little things!—and not the less so because they were altogether unconscious of their misfortune; and here, with the mourning casting a gloom over their fair young faces, were looking with the utmost eagerness and delight towards the doorway,—now and then slipping down from their seats to take a peep into the Square, and see if what they expected was coming,—now and then giggling to each other about the grave face of the old man on the other side of the way.
“At last, one, who had been peeping a bit as before, exclaimed, with a smothered shout, ‘Here he is!’ and then the other joined her, and the two rushed out together into the Square and stood on the pavement, stopping the way in front of a lad, who held over his arm a basket containing hares’ and rabbits’ skins, in which he carried on a small trade.