ay, but nobody cares about an old woman like me.
I heard all about you, and how you took the privateer, and how the
Company have given you a hundred pounds; and when I heard that, I said,
`Now Jack (Poor Jack that was, who came begging to old Nanny to lend him
money) will not come to see me, he'll be too proud. Besides, I said,
his family is getting up in the world: there's a baronet and his lady
who have taken them under their protection, and there's lawyer Wilson
calls at the house. Oh, dear me! it's the way of us all.'"

"And so you said all that to yourself, did you?" replied I.

"Yes, and a great deal more too."

"Then, mother, you did me injustice. I could not well come before; I
had to see my father and mother and my sister, and I had business to
transact."

"Mercy on us! business to transact! Poor Jack had business to transact!
Here's a change from the time that his whole business was to touch his
hat for coppers, and dip his head, in the mud for a penny."

"Nevertheless, what I say is true, and you are very unjust to accuse me
as you have done. I have always thought of you, and have now with me
several things that I have collected for you."

"Yes, you promised me. Jack, you do keep your promises; I will say that
for you. Well, what have you got?"

I opened my handkerchief, and pulled out several little articles, such
as fine worked baskets, shells, etcetera, and, among the rest, a pound
of tea in a leaden canister.

"There, mother, I have brought you them as a present, and I hope you
will take them."

Old Nanny turned them over one by one, rather contemptuously, as I
thought, until she came to the tea. "That may do," said she. "Why,
Jack, those are all very pretty things, but they are too pretty for my
shop. Why didn't you bring me some empty gingerbeer bottles? I could
have sold them this very morning."

"Why, mother, I really did not like to ask for such things."

"No, there it is; you've grown so fine all of a sudden. These are no
use, for nobody will come to my shop to buy them."

"I thought you would like to keep them yourself, mother."

"Keep them? Oh, they are keepsakes, are they? Look you, Jack, if they
are to be kept you had better take them away at once, and give them to
the young girls. Girls like keepsakes, old women like money."

"Well, mother, sell them if you please; they are your own."

"Sell them? let me see--yes, I think I know where there is a sort of
curiosit