And she bears her years as well as him, though not a white hair, and her eyes as bright as ever. And they love each other, as true and dear to-day, as they did at seven years old; it does my heart good to say it.
As months went on, Nick said less and less, but, it was plain to see, he still kept that idea of his wretched mother coming back one day; and come back she did, once, and never no more, for which be thankful, I said to myself, though remembering what was said, concerning the casting of stones at another sinful woman.
My boy came into the room, where I was ironing, with Nan to help me with the heaters—an’ as willin’ an’ cheerful as a little bird, I will ever say—one early twilight on a Saturday in the June of that year, and his eyes was brighter than usual, and he held something in his hand, behind his back.
“Guess what it is,” he told us; and Nan and me guessed all sorts of things to humour him. But at last the cat came out of the bag.
Cheevers had took to taking him round with the barrow, as I have said, and servant girls, who found him obliging, would often give him a penny, for the sake of his pretty face and civil manners—for he’d learned of me everything I could teach him, long ago. And their mistresses, too, would notice him, sometimes, and he’d saved the coppers all up and bought—what do you think?—a bright red ribbon for Nan. And now he brought it out, all beaming with pleasure.
But I soon sent the happy look out of his face. I’d been ironing all along through a sultry day, and I was a bit hurt, besides, to think he’d forgotten me, that had been almost a mother to him all these months. Sharp I spoke up—and next minute I could have bitten my tongue off.
“Red ribbons for a child as lives on charity!” I says, “and looks to poor folks who ain’t got too much of their own, for every bit and drop. And you ought to know better, than to throw away good money in that way, being in the same situation and owing the same obligations”—only I spoke coarser than that—“to my husband and me.”
He blushed up, as red as the ribbon, and I could see his little heart swelling under his little waistcoat, that I’d made myself out of an old bodice of mine.
“Oh, mother!” he says, “it was on’y tuppence, an’ I’d saved this to give you—all your own!” An’ he pulls out a shilling an’ puts it in my hand, and bursts out sobbing, and runs away for dear life, and me after him, full pelt.