a disorderly young man, spoilt in early life by his mother's
management, and who, though a skilful workman, squandered his own and a
large part of his mother's earnings. Nan had reason for keeping Gerty,
though they were not so strong as to prevent her often being inclined to
get rid of the encumbrance.

CHAPTER II.

COMFORT AND AFFLICTION.

"Mercy and love have met thee on thy road,
Thou wretched outcast!" --WORDSWORTH.

Gerty had had her kitten about a month, when she took a violent cold
from exposure to damp and rain; and Nan, fearing she should have trouble
with her if she became seriously ill, bade her stay in the house, and
keep in the warm room. Gerty's cough was fearful; and she would have sat
by the fire all day, had it not been for her anxiety about the kitten.
Towards night the men were heard coming in to supper. Just as they
entered the door of the room where Nan and Gerty were, one of them
stumbled over the kitten, which had slyly come in with them.

"Cracky! what's this 'ere?" said the man whom they called Jemmy; "a cat,
I vow! Why, Nan, I thought you hated cats!"

"Well, 'tan't none o' mine; drive it out," said Nan.

Jemmy tried to do so; but puss, making a circuit round his legs, sprang
forward into the arms of Gerty.

"Whose kitten's that, Gerty?" said Nan.

"Mine!" said Gerty, bravely.

"Well, how long have you kept cats?" asked Nan. "Speak! how came you by
this?"

Gerty was afraid of the men. She did not like to confess to whom she was
indebted for the kitten; she knew it would only make matters worse, for
Nan had never forgiven True Flint's rough expostulation against her
cruelty in beating the child for spilling the milk, and Gerty could not
think of any other source to which she could ascribe the kitten's
presence, or she would not have hesitated to tell a falsehood; for her
limited education had not taught her a love or habit of truth where a
lie would better serve her turn, and save her from punishment. She was
silent, and burst into tears.

"Come," said Jemmy, "give us some supper, Nan, and let the gal alone."
Nan complied, ominously muttering, however.

The supper just finished, an organ-grinder began to play at the door.
The men stepped out to join the crowd, who were watching the motions of
a monkey that danced to the music. Gerty ran to the window to look out.
Delighted with the gambols of the creature, she gazed until the man and
monkey moved off--so i