she appeared interested—she did not, at all—but with some vague hope of making himself appear a little less trivial. "Lizzie she called her. I suppose you don't know what has become of the old woman?"
"Well, considerin' that I'm her daughter Elizabeth"—she lengthened the name with an implied reproof—"I reckon I ought to know."
The Emigrant's hand sought and crushed the big packet of sweets well into his pocket. He flushed scarlet. At the same time he could hardly keep back a smile at his absurd mistake. To be here with lollipops for a woman of thirty and more!
"You haven't any little ones of your own?"
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"Oh, well; only a question. My name is Peter Jago—Pete, I used to be called."
"Yes?"
He took notice that she had said nothing of her mother's whereabouts; and concluded, rightly, that the old woman must be in the workhouse.
"Well, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I might be able to do something for her."
The woman became attentive at last.
"Any small trifle you might think o' leavin' with me, sir, it should duly reach her. She've failed a lot, lately."
"Thank you; I'll think it over. Good-day."
He strolled back to the Pack-horse and ate
