l tell you,' she said, 'for I am going to leave you, and you
ought to know.' And then, instead of telling her, the poor woman burst
into tears.
'Don't cry, mother, don't cry,' said the child; 'don't tell me if you'd
rather not.'
'But I _must_ tell you, Poppy,' she said, as she dried her eyes and
looked into the fire. 'Poppy, I loved your father more than I can tell
you, and he loved me, child; yes, he _did_ love me; never you believe
any one who tells you he didn't love me. He loved _me_, and he loved
_you_, Poppy; he was very good to you, wasn't he, my child?'
'Yes, mother, very good,' said Poppy, as she remembered how kind he
always was to her when he came in from work.
'But he got into bad company, Poppy, and he took to drinking. I wouldn't
tell you, dear, only I'm going away, and so I think you ought to know.
Well, bit by bit he was led away. Sometimes, dear, I blame myself, and
think perhaps I might have done more to keep him at home; but he was
always so pleasant with all his mates, and they made so much of him, and
they led him on--yes, Poppy, they led him on--they did, indeed. And I
saw him getting further and further wrong, and I could not stop him, and
there were things which I didn't know about, dear--horse-racing, and
card-playing, and all that sort of thing. And one day, Poppy,' said her
mother, lowering her voice ('I wouldn't tell you, my dear, if I wasn't
going away), one day he went out to his work as usual. I made him a cup
of hot coffee to drink before he started; I always made him that, dear,
if he was off ever so early.
'Well, he was ready to go, but he turned round at the door, and says he,
"Is Poppy awake?" "No, the bairn was fast asleep when I came down," says
I. He put down his breakfast-tin by the door, and he crept upstairs, and
I could hear his steps in the room overhead, and then, Poppy, I listened
at the foot of the stairs, and I heard him give you a kiss. I didn't say
anything, child, when he came down, for I thought maybe he wouldn't like
me to notice it, and he hurried out, as if he was afraid I should ask
him what he was doing.
'Well, dear, dinner-time came, and I always had it ready and waiting for
him, for I think it's a sin and a shame, Poppy, when them that works for
the meat never has time given them to eat it. But the dinner waited
long enough that day, child, for he never came home. I began to think
something must be wrong, for he always came home of a dinner-hour. I
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