and missis cryin as
yousual.

"Pore dear innocint," says Mrs. S., heavin a great sigh, "you're the
child of a unknown father and a misrable mother."

"Don't speak ill of Frederic, mamma," says missis; "he is all kindness
to me."

"All kindness, indeed! yes, he gives you a fine house, and a fine gownd,
and a ride in a fly whenever you please; but WHERE DOES ALL HIS
MONEY COME FROM? Who is he--what is he? Who knows that he mayn't be a
murderer, or a housebreaker, or a utterer of forged notes? How can he
make his money honestly, when he won't say where he gets it? Why does he
leave you eight hours every blessid day, and won't say where he goes to?
Oh, Mary, Mary, you are the most injured of women!"

And with this Mrs. Shum began sobbin; and Miss Betsy began yowling like
a cat in a gitter; and pore missis cried, too--tears is so remarkable
infeckshus.

"Perhaps, mamma," wimpered out she, "Frederic is a shop-boy, and don't
like me to know that he is not a gentleman."

"A shopboy," says Betsy, "he a shopboy! O no, no, no! more likely a
wretched willain of a murderer, stabbin and robing all day, and feedin
you with the fruits of his ill-gotten games!"

More crying and screechin here took place, in which the baby joined; and
made a very pretty consort, I can tell you.

"He can't be a robber," cries missis; "he's too good, too kind, for
that: besides, murdering is done at night, and Frederic is always home
at eight."

"But he can be a forger," says Betsy, "a wicked, wicked FORGER. Why does
he go away every day? to forge notes, to be sure. Why does he go to
the city? to be near banks and places, and so do it more at his
convenience."

"But he brings home a sum of money every day--about thirty
shillings--sometimes fifty: and then he smiles, and says it's a good
day's work. This is not like a forger," said pore Mrs. A.

"I have it--I have it!" screams out Mrs. S. "The villain--the sneaking,
double-faced Jonas! he's married to somebody else he is, and that's why
he leaves you, the base biggymist!"

At this, Mrs. Altamont, struck all of a heap, fainted clean away. A
dreadful business it was--hystarrix; then hystarrix, in course, from
Mrs. Shum; bells ringin, child squalin, suvvants tearin up and down
stairs with hot water! If ever there is a noosance in the world, it's a
house where faintain is always goin on. I wouldn't live in one,--no, not
to be groom of the chambers, and git two hundred a year.

It was eight o'c