“O ye poor darlint! ye poor, young crather, that’s got the black sorrer atin’ inter yer heart, all the same as if ye wor owld an’ mane an’ oogly, like mesilf!-it’s none but Him aboov as kin comfort yees.  Blissid Vargin, as was a moother yersilf, an’ knowed a moother’s pains an’ a moother’s love, an’ all the ins an’ outs uv a moother’s heart, luck down on this young moother an’ help her, an’ spake to thim as can help her betther nor yees, an’ give back her child; bekase ye mind the time yer own Howly Child wor lost, an’ ye sought him sorrerin’; an’ ye mind the joy an’ the comfort that wor in it whin he was foun’.  Och Mother of Jasus! hear us this day, if niver again.”

As the passionate prayer ended, the lady raised her head, and kissed the tear-stained cheek of the petitioner.

“Thank you,” said she.  “I know that you were good to her, and that she loved you; but, oh! did she forget me so soon?”

Alas poor human heart whose purest impulses are tinged with selfishness!  You who have lost your nearest and dearest, can you say from your inmost soul that you would be content to know yourself and all of earth forgotten, or that it is sorrow to you to fancy that a lingering memory, a faint regret for the love you so lavished, stains the perfection of heavenly bliss?

Tact is not a matter of breeding; and Chesterfield or Machiavelli could have found no better answer than that of Mrs. Ginniss:—­

“Sure, honey, it wor alluz she remembered yees, an’ longed for yees; though the little crather wor that yoong, an’ the faver had so poot her about, that she didn’ know what it wor she wanted nor missed; but it wor ‘mother’ as wor writ in the blue eyes uv her as plain as prentin’.”

“And was she very, very sick?” asked the sad voice again.

“The sickest crather that iver coom back from hivin’s gate,” replied the other; and then, seating herself beside her visitor, she began at the beginning, and gave a long detail of the circumstances attending Cherry’s first appearance in the garret, and her subsequent illness and convalescence.  Then came the story of her acquaintance with Giovanni; her passion for dancing and singing with him; and finally their flight, and the consternation and sorrow of her adopted mother.

Mrs. Legrange listened to every thing with the most profound attention, asking now and then a question, or uttering an exclamation; even smiling faintly at mention of the child’s graceful dancing and sweet voice in singing.

“Yes, she had an extraordinary ear for music,” murmured she; “and to think of her remembering being called Cerito!”

Nor did the mother fail to notice how the whole coarse fabric of the Irish woman’s story was embroidered with a golden thread of love and admiration, and even reverence, for the exquisite little creature she had cherished and cared for so tenderly.

“Yes, you loved her; and I love you for it, and will always be your friend.  But Teddy?” asked she at last; for Mrs. Ginniss, through the whole story, had carefully avoided all mention of her son, except in the most casual and general fashion.  Now, however, she boldly answered,—­