“And who WAS your dear mamma?” said I: for Miss Crutty's respected parent had been long since dead, and I never heard her name mentioned in the family.
Magdalen blushed, and cast down her eyes to the ground. “Mamma was a foreigner,” at last she said.
“And of what country?”
“A German. Papa married her when she was very young:—she was not of a very good family,” said Miss Crutty, hesitating.
“And what care I for family, my love!” said I, tenderly kissing the knuckles of the hand which I held. “She must have been an angel who gave birth to you.”
“She was a shoemaker's daughter.”
“A GERMAN SHOEMAKER! Hang 'em,” thought I, “I have had enough of them;” and so broke up this conversation, which did not somehow please me.
Well, the day was drawing near: the clothes were ordered; the banns were read. My dear mamma had built a cake about the size of a washing-tub; and I was only waiting for a week to pass to put me in possession of twelve thousand pounds in the FIVE per Cents, as they were in those days, heaven bless 'em! Little did I know the storm that was brewing, and the disappointment which was to fall upon a young man who really did his best to get a fortune.