'I've been thinking all day of her and thee, lad, till I'm nigh
heart-broken.'
'Do you feel worse, father?' asked Stephen anxiously.
'I'm drawing nearer the end,' answered James Fern,--'nearer the end every
hour; and I don't know for certain what the end will be. I'm repenting;
but I can't undo the mischief I've done; I must leave that behind me.
If I'd been anything like a decent father, I should have left you
comfortable, instead of poor beggars. And what is to become of my poor
lass here? See how fast she clips my hand, as if she was afeared I was
going to leave her! Oh, Stephen, my lad, what will you all do?'
'Father,' said Stephen, in a quiet and firm voice, 'I'm getting six
shillings a week wages, and we can live on very little. We haven't got
any rent to pay, and only ourselves and grandfather to keep, and Martha
is as good as a woman grown. We'll manage, father, and take care of
little Nan.'
'Stephen and I are not bad, father,' added Martha, speaking up proudly;
'I am not like Black Bess of Botfield. Mother always told me I was to do
my duty; and I always do it. I can wash, and sew, and iron, and bake, and
knit.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25