ther nursing her Gerard, and Gerard
drawing no distinction between this new mother and her the banished one.

The nurse replied, "You are very welcome, my poor woman. And so are you,
Mistress Catherine, which are my townswoman, and know it not."

"What, are ye from Tergou? all the better, But I cannot call your face
to mind."

"Oh, you know not me: my husband and me, we are very humble folk by you.
But true Eli and his wife are known of all the town; and respected,
So, I am at your call, dame; and at yours, wife; and yours, my pretty
poppet; night or day."

"There's a woman of the right old sort," said Catherine, as the door
closed upon her.

"I HATE her. I HATE her. I HATE her," said Margaret, with wonderful
fervour.

Catherine only laughed at this outburst.

"That is right," said she; "better say it, as set sly and think it. It
is very natural after all, Come, here is your bundle o' comfort. Take
and hate that, if ye can;" and she put the child in her lap.

"No, no," said Margaret, turning her head half way from him; she could
not for her life turn the other half. "He is not my child now; he is
hers. I know not why she left him here, for my part. It was very good of
her not to take him to her house, cradle and all; oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! oh
oh! oh!"

"Ah! well, one comfort, he is not dead. This gives me light: some other
woman has got him away from me; like father, like son; oh! oh! oh! oh!
oh!"

Catherine was sorry for her, and let her cry in peace. And after that,
when she wanted Joan's aid, she used to take Gerard out, to give him
a little fresh air. Margaret never objected; nor expressed the least
incredulity; but on their return was always in tears.

This connivance was short-lived. She was now altogether as eager to
wean little Gerard. It was done; and he recovered health and vigour; and
another trouble fell upon him directly teething, But here Catherine's
experience was invaluable; and now, in the midst of her grief and
anxiety about the father, Margaret had moments of bliss, watching the
son's tiny teeth come through. "Teeth, mother? I call them not teeth,
but pearls of pearls." And each pearl that peeped and sparkled on his
red gums, was to her the greatest feat Nature had ever achieved.

Her companion partook the illusion. And had we told them standing corn
was equally admirable, Margaret would have changed to a reproachful
gazelle, and Catherine turned us out of doors; so each pearl's arrival
w