uncle's, that his uncle thought the trade too hard for him, and the
like.

About three days after this Amy goes again, and carried him the hundred
pounds she promised him, but then Amy made quite another figure than she
did before; for she went in my coach, with two footmen after her, and
dressed very fine also, with jewels and a gold watch; and there was
indeed no great difficulty to make Amy look like a lady, for she was a
very handsome, well-shaped woman, and genteel enough. The coachman and
servants were particularly ordered to show her the same respect as they
would to me, and to call her Madam Collins, if they were asked any
questions about her.

When the gentleman saw what a figure she made it added to the former
surprise, and he entertained her in the most respectful manner possible,
congratulated her advancement in fortune, and particularly rejoiced that
it should fall to the poor child's lot to be so provided for, contrary
to all expectation.

Well, Amy talked big, but very free and familiar, told them she had no
pride in her good fortune (and that was true enough, for, to give Amy
her due, she was far from it, and was as good-humoured a creature as
ever lived); that she was the same as ever; and that she always loved
this boy, and was resolved to do something extraordinary for him.

Then she pulled out her money, and paid him down a hundred and twenty
pounds, which, she said, she paid him that he might be sure he should
be no loser by taking him home again, and that she would come and see
him again, and talk farther about things with him, so that all might be
settled for him, in such a manner as accidents, such as mortality, or
anything else, should make no alteration to the child's prejudice.

At this meeting the uncle brought his wife out, a good, motherly,
comely, grave woman, who spoke very tenderly of the youth, and, as it
appeared, had been very good to him, though she had several children of
her own. After a long discourse, she put in a word of her own. "Madam,"
says she, "I am heartily glad of the good intentions you have for this
poor orphan, and I rejoice sincerely in it for his sake; but, madam, you
know, I suppose, that there are two sisters alive too; may we not speak
a word for them? Poor girls," says she, "they have not been so kindly
used as he has, and are turned out to the wide world."

"Where are they, madam?" says Amy.

"Poor creatures," says the gentlewoman, "they are out at servi