'Why, bless thee, child,' said the old man, patting her on the head,
'how couldst thou miss thy way? What if I had lost thee, Nell!'
'I would have found my way back to YOU, grandfather,' said the
child boldly; 'never fear.'
The old man kissed her, then turning to me and begging me to walk
in, I did so. The door was closed and locked. Preceding me with the
light, he led me through the place I had already seen from without,
into a small sitting-room behind, in which was another door opening
into a kind of closet, where I saw a little bed that a fairy might have
slept in, it looked so very small and was so prettily arranged. The
child took a candle and tripped into this little room, leaving the old
man and me together.
'You must be tired, sir,' said he as he placed a chair near the fire,
'how can I thank you?'
'By taking more care of your grandchild another time, my good
friend,' I replied.
'More care!' said the old man in a shrill voice, 'more care of Nelly!
Why, who ever loved a child as I love Nell?'
He said this with such evident surprise that I was perplexed what
answer to make, and the more so because coupled with something
feeble and wandering in his manner, there were in his face marks of
deep and anxious thought which convinced me that he could not be,
as I had been at first inclined to suppose, in a state of dotage or
imbecility.
'I don't think you consider--' I began.
'I don't consider!' cried the old man interrupting me, 'I don't consider
her! Ah, how little you know of the truth! Little Nelly, little Nelly!'
It would be impossible for any man, I care not what his form of
speech might be, to express more affection than the dealer in
curiosities did, in these four words. I waited for him to speak again,
but he rested his chin upon his hand and shaking his head twice or
thrice fixed his eyes upon the fire.
While we were sitting thus in silence, the door of the closet opened,
and the child returned, her light brown hair hanging loose about her
neck, and her face flushed with the haste she had made to rejoin us.
She busied herself immediately in preparing supper, and while she
was thus engaged I remarked that the old man took an opportunity of
observing me more closely than he had done yet. I was surprised to
see that all this time everything was done by the child, and that there
appeared to be no other persons but ourselves in the house. I took
advantage of a moment when she was absent to venture a hint on this
point, to which the old man replied that there were few grown
persons as trustworthy or as careful as she.
'It always grieves me, ' I observed, roused by what I took to be his
selfishness, 'it always grieves me to contemplate the initiation of
children into the ways of life, when they are scarcely more than
infants. It checks their confidence and simplicity--two of the best
qualities that Heaven gives them--and demands that they share our
sorrows before they are capable of entering into our enjoyments.'
'It will never check hers,' said the old man looking steadily at me,
'the springs are too deep. Besides, the children of the poor know but
few pleasures. Even the cheap delights of childhood must be bought
and paid for.
'But--forgive me for saying this--you are surely not so very poor'--said I.
'She is not my child, sir,' returned the old man. 'Her mother was,
and she was poor.
