erstand how a person could
give away one hundred pounds in any way or to anybody."

"Well, then, I gave it to my mother."

"Your mother! your mother, who has hated you, wished you dead,
half-starved you! Jack, is that possible?"

"My mother has not been fond of me, but she has worked hard for my
sister. This hundred pounds will enable her to do much better than she
does now, and it's of no use to me. Mother may love me yet, Nanny."

"She ought to," replied old Nanny, gravely; and then she covered her
face up with her hands. "Oh, what a difference!" ejaculated she at last.

"Difference, mother, difference? in what?"

"Oh, Jack, between you and--somebody else. Don't talk about it any more,
Jack," said Nanny, casting her eyes down to the presents I had brought
her. "I recollect the time," continued she, evidently talking to
herself, "that I had plenty of presents; ay, and when it was thought a
great favor. I would accept them. That was when I was young and
beautiful; yes, people would laugh if they heard me--young and very
beautiful, or men's smiles and women's hate were thrown away--

"'Why so pale and wan, fond lover;
Prithee, why so pale?'

"Yes, yes, bygones are bygones."

I was much surprised to hear old Nanny attempt to sing, and could hardly
help laughing; but I restrained myself. She didn't speak again, but
continued bent over one of the baskets, as if thinking about former
days. I broke the silence by saying:

"What part of the country did you live in when you were young, mother?"

"In the north part. But never ask questions."

"Yes, but, mother, I wish to ask questions. I wish you to tell me your
whole history. I will not tell it again to any one, I promise you."

"But why should you wish to know the history of a poor old thing like
me?"

"Because, mother, I am sure you must have seen better days."

"And if I have, Jack, is it kind to ask me to bring up to memory the
days when I was fair and rich, when the world smiled upon me, and I was
fool enough to think that it would always smile? Is it kind to recall
what was to an old, miserable, deserted wretch like me, struggling to
keep out of the workhouse? Look at me now, Jack, and see what I now am.
Is it not cruel to bring to my mind what I once was? Go to, Jack, you're
a selfish boy, and I don't love you."

"Indeed, mother, if I thought it would have given you pain, I never
would have asked you; but you cannot wonder at me. Recollect th