“Go on, dear. I was mad agin’ you an’ your religious ways; wasn’t that it?” said Mrs Frog.
“Well, mother, it don’t matter now, thank God. The Infant Nursery, you know, is a part of the Institution there. The hearts of the people who manage it were touched by the death of so many thousands of little ones every year in London through want and neglect, so they set up this nursery to enable poor widowed mothers and others to send their babies to be cared for—nursed, fed, and amused in nice airy rooms—while the mothers are at work. They charge only fourpence a day for this, and each baby has its own bag of clothing, brush and comb, towel and cot. They will keep Matty from half-past seven in the morning till eight at night for you, so that will give you plenty of time to work, won’t it, mother?”
“It will indeed, Hetty, and all for fourpence a day, say you?”
“Yes, the ordinary charge is fourpence, but widows get it for twopence for each child, and, perhaps, they may regard a deserted wife as a widow! There is a fine of twopence per hour for any child not taken away after eight, so you’ll have to be up to time, mother.”
Mrs Frog acted on this advice, and thus was enabled to earn a sufficiency to enable her to pay her daily rent, to clothe and feed herself and child, to give a little to the various missions undertaken by the Institutions near her, to put a little now and then into the farthing bank, and even to give a little in charity to the poor!
Now, reader, you may have forgotten it, but if you turn back to near the beginning of this chapter, you will perceive that all we have been writing about is a huge digression, for which we refuse to make the usual apology.
We return again to Mrs Frog where we left her, sitting beside her cheerful fire, sewing and conversing with Hetty.
“I can’t bear to think of ’im, Hetty,” said Mrs Frog. “You an’ me sittin’ here so comfortable, with as much to eat as we want, an’ to spare, while your poor father is in a cold cell. He’s bin pretty bad to me of late, it’s true, wi’ that drink, but he wasn’t always like that, Hetty; even you can remember him before he took to the drink.”
“Yes, mother, I can, and, bless the Lord, he may yet be better than he ever was. When is his time up?”
“This day three weeks. The twelve months will be out then. We must pray for ’im, Hetty.”