ow, began to whimper and wail. Susan
took it softly up, and hiding her face in its little neck, tried to
restrain her tears, and think of comfort for the mother. At last she
said--

"Where is she now?"

"Lass! I dunnot know," said Mrs. Leigh, checking her sobs to communicate
this addition to her distress. "Mrs. Lomax telled me she went--"

"Mrs. Lomax--what Mrs. Lomax?"

"Her as lives in Brabazon Street. She telled me my poor wench went to
the workhouse fra there. I'll not speak again the dead; but if her
father would but ha' letten me--but he were one who had no notion--no,
I'll not say that; best say nought. He forgave her on his death-bed. I
daresay I did na go th' right way to work."

"Will you hold the child for me one instant?" said Susan.

"Ay, if it will come to me. Childer used to be fond on me till I got the
sad look on my face that scares them, I think."

But the little girl clung to Susan; so she carried it upstairs with her.
Mrs. Leigh sat by herself--how long she did not know.

Susan came down with a bundle of far-worn baby-clothes.

"You must listen to me a bit, and not think too much about what I'm going
to tell you. Nanny is not my niece, nor any kin to me, that I know of. I
used to go out working by the day. One night, as I came home, I thought
some woman was following me; I turned to look. The woman, before I could
see her face (for she turned it to one side), offered me something. I
held out my arms by instinct; she dropped a bundle into them, with a
bursting sob that went straight to my heart. It was a baby. I looked
round again; but the woman was gone. She had run away as quick as
lightning. There was a little packet of clothes--very few--and as if
they were made out of its mother's gowns, for they were large patterns to
buy for a baby. I was always fond of babies; and I had not my wits about
me, father says; for it was very cold, and when I'd seen as well as I
could (for it was past ten) that there was no one in the street, I
brought it in and warmed it. Father was very angry when he came, and
said he'd take it to the workhouse the next morning, and flyted me sadly
about it. But when morning came I could not bear to part with it; it had
slept in my arms all night; and I've heard what workhouse bringing-up is.
So I told father I'd give up going out working and stay at home and keep
school, if I might only keep the baby; and, after a while, he said if I
earned enough f