About three days after this Amy goes again, and carried him the hundred pounds she promised him, but then Amy made quite another figure than she did before; for she went in my coach, with two footmen after her, and dressed very fine also, with jewels and a gold watch; and there was indeed no great difficulty to make Amy look like a lady, for she was a very handsome, well-shaped woman, and genteel enough. The coachman and servants were particularly ordered to show her the same respect as they would to me, and to call her Madam Collins, if they were asked any questions about her.
When the gentleman saw what a figure she made, it added to the former surprise, and he entertained her in the most respectful manner possible, congratulated her advancement in fortune, and particularly rejoiced that it should fall to the poor child's lot to be so provided for, contrary to all expectation.
Well, Amy talked big, but very free and familiar, told them she had no pride in her good fortune (and that was true enough, for, to give Amy her due, she was far from it, and was as good-humoured a creature as ever lived); that she was the same as ever; and that she always loved this boy, and was resolved to do something extraordinary for him.
Then she pulled out her money, and paid him down a hundred and twenty pounds, which, she said, she paid him that he might be sure he should be no loser by taking him home again, and that she would come and see him again, and talk farther about things with him, so that all might be settled for him, in such a manner as accidents, such as mortality, or anything else, should make no alteration to the child's prejudice.
At this meeting the uncle brought his wife out, a good, motherly, comely, grave woman, who spoke very tenderly of the youth, and, as it appeared, had been very good to him, though she had several children of her own. After a long discourse, she put in a word of her own. 'Madam', says she, 'I am heartily glad of the good intentions you have for this poor orphan, and I rejoice sincerely in it for his sake; but, madam, you know, I suppose, that there are two sisters alive too; may we not speak a word for them? Poor girls', says she, 'they have not been so kindly used as he has, and are turned out to the wide world.'
'Where are they, madam?' says Amy.
Poor creatures', says the gentlewoman; 'they are out at service, nobody knows where but themselves; their case is very hard.'
'Well, madam', says Amy, 'though, if I could find them I would assist them, yet my concern is for my boy, as I call him, and I will put him into a condition to take care of his sisters.'
But, madam', says the good, compassionate creature, 'he may not be so charitable perhaps by his own inclination, for brothers are not fathers, and they have been cruelly used already, poor girls; we have often relieved them, both with victuals and clothes too, even while they were pretended to be kept by their barbarous aunt.'
Well, madam', says Amy, 'what can I do for them? They are gone, it seems, and cannot be heard of. When I see them 'tis time enough.' She pressed Amy, then, to oblige their brother, out of the plentiful fortune he was like to have, to do something for his sisters when he should be able.
Amy spoke coldly of that still, but said she would consider of it; and so they parted for that time. They had several meetings after this, for
