ve her dearly, as I've reason to."

Will looked up with momentary surprise, for his mother was too shy to be
usually taken with strangers. But, after all, it was naturally in this
case, for who could look at Susan without loving her? So still he did
not ask any questions, and his poor mother had to take courage, and try
again to introduce the subject near to her heart. But how?

"Will!" said she (jerking it out in sudden despair of her own powers to
lead to what she wanted to say), "I telled her all."

"Mother! you've ruined me," said he, standing up, and standing opposite
to her with a stern white look of affright on his face.

"No! my own dear lad; dunnot look so scared; I have not ruined you!" she
exclaimed, placing her two hands on his shoulders, and looking fondly
into his face. "She's not one to harden her heart against a mother's
sorrow. My own lad, she's too good for that. She's not one to judge and
scorn the sinner. She's too deep read in her New Testament for that.
Take courage, Will; and thou mayst, for I watched her well, though it is
not for one woman to let out another's secret. Sit thee down, lad, for
thou look'st very white."

He sat down. His mother drew a stool towards him, and sat at his feet.

"Did you tell her about Lizzie, then?" asked he, hoarse and low.

"I did; I telled her all! and she fell a-crying over my deep sorrow, and
the poor wench's sin. And then a light comed into her face, trembling
and quivering with some new glad thought; and what dost thou think it
was, Will, lad? Nay, I'll not misdoubt but that thy heart will give
thanks as mine did, afore God and His angels, for her great goodness.
That little Nanny is not her niece, she's our Lizzie's own child, my
little grandchild." She could no longer restrain her tears; and they
fell hot and fast, but still she looked into his face.

"Did she know it was Lizzie's child? I do not comprehend," said he,
flushing red.

"She knows now: she did not at first, but took the little helpless
creature in, out of her own pitiful, loving heart, guessing only that it
was the child of shame; and she's worked for it, and kept it, and tended
it ever sin' it were a mere baby, and loves it fondly. Will! won't you
love it?" asked she, beseechingly.

He was silent for an instant; then he said, "Mother, I'll try. Give me
time, for all these things startle me. To think of Susan having to do
with such a child!"

"Ay, Will! and to think, a