to the water with your child. One of his men
sprang overboard and saved you. The vessel couldn't put back, so he
brought you here.'

'Merciful heaven! did I do that?'

'Yes. You must have been sorely troubled, my child. But never mind--it
is all over now. But hasn't Franky grown? Isn't he a handsome boy? Come
here to grandma, my baby.' And the good woman sat down on a chair, while
the little fellow ran to her, put his small arms around her neck, and
kissed her over and over again. Children are intuitive judges of
character; no really bad man or woman ever had the love of a child.

'Yes, he _has_ grown. You call him Franky, do you?'

'Yes; we didn't know his name. What had you named him?'

'John Hallet.'

As she spoke those words, a sharp pang shot through her heart. It was
well that her child had another name!

She was soon sufficiently recovered to leave the asylum. By the kind
offices of the matron, she got employment in a cap-factory, and a plain
but comfortable boarding-place in the lower part of the city. She worked
at the shop, and left Franky during the day with her landlady, a
kind-hearted but poor woman. Her earnings were but three dollars a week,
and their board was two and a quarter; but on the balance she contrived
to furnish herself and her child with clothes. The only luxury she
indulged in was an occasional _walk_, on Sunday to Bloomingdale, to see
her good friend the kind-hearted matron.

Thus things went on for two years; and if not happy, she was at least
comfortable. Her father never relented; but her aunt wrote her often,
and there was comfort in the thought that, at least, one of her early
friends had not cast her off. The good lady, too, sent her now and again
small remittances, but they came few and far between; for as the pious
woman grew older, her heart gradually returned to its first love--the
poor heathen.

To Kate Russell Fanny wrote as soon she left the asylum, telling her of
all that had happened as far as she knew, and thanking her for all her
goodness and kindness to her. She waited some weeks, but no answer came;
then she wrote again, but still no answer came, though that time she
waited two or three months. Fearing then that something had befallen
her, she mustered courage to write Mr. Russell. Still she got no reply,
and she reluctantly concluded--though she had not asked them for
aid--that they had ceased to feel interested in her.

'They had not, madam. Kate has often sp