“Poor woman!” said Mrs. Harewood; “we must all help; this little stranger has a claim on us.”
Ellen clapped her hands—“Oh, mamma, may I make it a nightcap?”
“Yes, my dear; I will get some old linen, and cut out a few things, after tea.”
“I will give you a crown, my dear,” said Mr. Harewood; “as I cannot assist in sewing, I must help to buy needles and thread.”
“And I will give you a shilling, mamma,” said Edmund, “if you please.”
“Oh dear,” said Charles, “I am very sorry, but I have only fourpence, because I spent all my money on my new kite; but if that will do any good, mamma——”
“It will do good, Charles, and I will not grieve you by refusing it, because I see you are sorry that you have no more, which will teach you another time to be provident, and then you will not be under the necessity of giving your last farthing, or refusing to be charitable, when such a case occurs again.”
Ellen handed Charles’s fourpence to her mamma; and as she did so, she put a sixpence between the pence, so as not to be seen by Matilda, lest it should seem like a reproach to her; and as she slipped the whole into her mother’s hand, she said—“I hope, mamma, you will be so good as to let Miss Hanson make a little cap for the baby?”
“I don’t like to sew,” said Matilda, rising; “at least not such things as these: I think a bit of calico to wrap the pickaninnies in is the best, and I’ll give that to buy some with.”
As she spoke she threw half-a-guinea on the table, with the air of one desirous of exhibiting both generosity and wealth, and looked round with an eye that asked for admiration.