girl hung about her, and
kissed her, and was in such a passion still, though she was a great
wench of nineteen or twenty years old, that she could not be brought to
speak a great while. At last, having recovered her speech, she said
still, "But oh! Do not say you a'n't my mother! I'm sure you are my
mother;" and then the girl cried again like to kill herself. Amy could
not tell what to do with her a good while; she was loth to say again she
was not her mother, because she would not throw her into a fit of
crying again; but she went round about a little with her. "Why, child,"
says she, "why would you have me be your mother? If it be because I am
so kind to you, be easy, my dear," says Amy; "I'll be as kind to you
still, as if I was your mother."

"Ay, but," says the girl, "I am sure you are my mother too; and what
have I done that you won't own me, and that you will not be called my
mother? Though I am poor, you have made me a gentlewoman," says she,
"and I won't do anything to disgrace you; besides," added she, "I can
keep a secret, too, especially for my own mother, sure;" then she calls
Amy her dear mother, and hung about her neck again, crying still
vehemently.

This last part of the girl's words alarmed Amy, and, as she told me,
frighted her terribly; nay, she was so confounded with it, that she was
not able to govern herself, or to conceal her disorder from the girl
herself, as you shall hear. Amy was at a full stop, and confused to the
last degree; and the girl, a sharp jade, turned it upon her. "My dear
mother," says she, "do not be uneasy about it; I know it all; but do not
be uneasy, I won't let my sister know a word of it, or my brother
either, without you giving me leave; but don't disown me now you have
found me; don't hide yourself from me any longer; I can't bear that,"
says she, "it will break my heart."

"I think the girl's mad," says Amy; "why, child, I tell thee, if I was
thy mother I would not disown thee; don't you see I am as kind to you
as if I was your mother?" Amy might as well have sung a song to a
kettledrum, as talk to her. "Yes," says the girl, "you are very good to
me indeed;" and that was enough to make anybody believe she was her
mother too; but, however, that was not the case, she had other reasons
to believe, and to know, that she was her mother; and it was a sad thing
she would not let her call her mother, who was her own child.

Amy was so heart-full with the disturbance of it, th