re than a year ago,
was from a place called Maryborough.'

The other still preserved an absent expression; his eyes travelled
about the room.

'I always said,' pursued Mrs. Peckover, 'as it was Snowdon as put
Australia into the boy's 'ed. He used to tell us he'd got a brother
there, doin' well. P'r'aps it wasn't true.'

'Yes, it was true,' replied the old man coldly. 'But you haven't told
me what came to pass about the child.'

An exact report of all that Mrs. Peckover had to say on this subject
would occupy more space than it merits. The gist of it was that for
less than a year she had received certain stipulated sums irregularly;
that at length no money at all was forthcoming; that in the tenderness
of her heart she had still entertained the child, sent her to school,
privately instructed her in the domestic virtues, trusting that such
humanity would not lack even its material reward, and that either
Joseph Snowdon or someone akin to him would ultimately make good to her
the expenses she had not grudged.

'She's a child as pays you back for all the trouble you take, so much I
_will_ say for her,' observed the matron in conclusion. 'Not as it
hasn't been a little 'ard to teach her tidiness, but she's only a young
thing still. I shouldn't wonder but she's felt her position a little
now an' then; it's only natural in a growin' girl, do what you can to
prevent it. Still, she's willin'; that nobody can deny, an' I'm sure I
should never wish to. Her cirkinstances has been peculiar; that you'll
understand, I'm sure. But I done my best to take the place of the
mother as is gone to a better world. An' now that she's layin' ill, I'm
sure no mother could feel it more--'

'Ill? Why didn't you mention that before?'

'Didn't I say as she was ill? Why, I thought it was the first word I
spoke as soon as you got into the 'ouse. You can't a noticed it, or
else it was me as is so put about. What With havin' a burial--'

'Where is she?' asked the old man anxiously.

'Where? Why, you don't think as I'd a sent her to be looked after by
strangers? She's layin' in Mrs. Hewett's room--that's one o' the
lodgers--all for the sake o' comfort. A better an' kinder woman than
Mrs. Hewett you wouldn't find, not if you was to--'

With difficulty the stranger obtained a few details of the origin and
course of the illness--details wholly misleading, but devised to
reassure. When he desired to see Jane, Mrs. Peckover assumed an air of
perfe