She held me in her arms, and caressed me, and pressed me to her heart. My tears flowed upon her faithful breast. 'How did you find me, dear child? Unkind mother that I am to leave my darling hungry and alone all the day!' 'Don't say that, mother. You mustn't; you mustn't! If anybody else said it, I would kill him!' 'Hush, dear child! You must not excite yourself. Come, you shall go to bed; and you shall tell me all in the morning, please God.' 'No, I want to tell you now; I want to talk to you now. I want to lie here, and talk quietly, quietly! Oh, but I am so sorry! so sorry!' 'For what, dear child?' Through my sobs I murmured, 'That you should have to stand in the cold, and beg for me!' My arms were round her, and I felt her shrink and tremble within them. 'Now I know what the poor woman in the forest did when she went to look for food for her bird. If any one saw you that knew you, would you not be ashamed? Would you not run away?' Sadly and tearfully she replied, 'No, my own darling, I do not think I should. Who would be so cruel as to say I ought to be ashamed of doing what I do?' 'But, mother, you stand with your head down, as if you wanted to hide your face!' The blood rose to her face and forehead pitifully. 'I cannot help it, dearest,' she said with trembling lips; it comes natural to me to stand so. I do not think of it at the time. And O, Chris! don't despise your poor mother now that you have found out her secret!' She would have fallen at my feet if I had not kept my arms tightly around her. In the brief pause that ensued before she spoke again, I closed my eyes, and leant my head upon her shoulder, the better to think of her goodness to me. I saw all the details of the picture which now occupied my mind. I saw my mother approach the spot where she had decided to stand, to solicit charity for me; I saw her hesitate, and tremble, and look around warily and timidly, as though she were about to commit a crime; and then I saw her glide swiftly into the road and take her station there, with her dear head drooping on her breast from shame. Yes, from shame. And it was for me she did this! 'If I could get work to do,' she presently said, in low meek tones, such as one who was crushed and who despaired might use if wrongfully accused, 'I would not beg. Heaven knows I have tried hard enough; I have implored, have almost gone on my knees for it, in vain. What was I to do? We could not starve, and I would not go to the parish; I would not bring that shame upon my darling's life, until everything else in the world had failed. I did not intend my child to know. I tried to keep the knowledge from him--I tried, I tried! O, my dear boy! my heart is fit to break!' I listened in awe, and could say no word to comfort her.