"The terms is fore shillins a weke," she wrote, "but i am that lonelie sins my own littel one lef me i wood tike your swete darling for nothin if I cud afford it and you can cum to see her as offen as you pleas."
In my ignorance and simplicity this captured me completely, so I replied at once saying I would take baby to Ilford the next day.
I did all this in a rush, but when it came to the last moment I could scarcely part with my letter, and I remember that I passed three pillar-boxes in the front street before I could bring myself to post it.
I suppose my eyes must have been red when I returned home, for my Welsh landlady (whom I had taken into my confidence about my means) took me to task for crying, telling me that I ought to thank God for what had happened, which was like a message from heaven, look you, and a dispensation of Providence.
I tried to see things in that light, though it was difficult to do so, for the darker my prospects grew the more radiant shone the light of the little angel by whose life I lived, and the harder it seemed to live without her.
"But it isn't like losing my child altogether, is it?" I said.
"'Deed no, and 'twill he better for both of you," said my landlady.
"Although Ilford is a long way off I can go there every day, can't I'!"
"'Deed thee can, if thee'st not minding a journey of nine miles or more."
"And if I can get a good situation and earn a little money I may be able to have baby back and hire somebody to nurse her, and so keep her all to myself."