Then, with great care, she opened the letter, and read aloud: '14 Paradise-row, Windmill-street. 'Emma Carey,--Personally you will have not the slightest knowledge of me, for I do not think you ever set eyes on me; but you will know my name. I was not aware until a few days ago that your husband was dead. I am poor, but not as poor as you are. I offer you and your boy a home. You can both come and live with me if you like. If you decide to come, you must not expect much. I am not a pleasant character, and my disposition is not amiable. But the probability is, if you accept my offer, that you and your boy will have regular meals, such as they are. I keep a shop; you can help me in it. You can come at once if you like--this very day. I don't suppose it will take you long to pack up. 'Bryan Carey.' I started when I heard the name, for it was our own. 'It is from your uncle Bryan,' said my mother; 'your dear father's elder brother, who disappeared many years ago.' 'I thought he was dead, mother.' 'We all supposed so, never having heard from him.' 'Was he nice, mother?' 'I have no idea, child; I never saw him. But he says that he is neither amiable nor pleasant.' Two words in the letter had especially attracted my attention. 'Regular meals,' I murmured, somewhat timidly. My mother rose instantly. Unless she accepted the offer, there was but one alternative before her; and no one knew better than I how her sensitive nature shrank from it. It was the bitterest necessity only that had driven her to beg. 'I will go at once and see your uncle, my dear. I don't know where Paradise-row is, but I shall be able to find it out. I will be back as soon as possible. Keep indoors, there's a dear child!' She was absent for nearly three hours. 'Well, mother?' I said, running to the door as I heard her step on the stairs. She drew me into the room, and sat down, with her arms round my neck. 'We will go, dear,' she said, and my heart beat joyfully at the words. 'it will be a home for us. Situated as we are, what would become of my dear child if I were to fall really ill? And I have been afraid of it many times. Yes, we will go. Your uncle Bryan keeps a grocer's shop. I told him I should have to give a week's warning here, and he gave me the money to pay the rent, so that we might go to him at once.' My mother looked about her regretfully. It belonged to her nature to become attached to everything with which she was associated, and she could not help having a tender feeling even for our one little room in which we had seen so much trouble. 'Now, Chris, We will pack up.'