I had stopped at my mother's to say that I intended to stay with old Nanny, so that they might not sit up for me; and now all that I had to do was to keep myself awake. I had forgotten to bring a book with me, so I looked about the room for something to read; but I could find nothing. At last I ventured to open a drawer--it creaked, and old Nanny was roused. "Who's that?" cried she, but she did not wake up, the opiate was too powerful. I went to her; she was in a perspiration, which I knew was what the doctor wished. I put the clothes close up to her head, and left her. I then took the candle and looked into the drawer, and found a book lying in a corner with one side of the cover off. It was very dirty and stained. I took it out, and went again to my chair, and opened it. It was Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," and full of plates. I had never heard of the book, and did not know what the title meant. I first looked at all the plates, and then I turned to the opening of the book. On the blank leaf at the commencement, in very neat and lawyer-like handwriting, was "Anna James, on her marriage, from her dear friend Mary Farquhar, Tynemouth, June the 19th, 1738." By this I discovered, as I thought, the married but not the maiden name of old Nanny; and very probably, also, that Tynemouth was her native place. She was married, too, in 1738, that was more than sixty years back--and her age was, therefore, in all likelihood, nearly eighty years. I pondered over this for some time, and then I commenced reading; and so interested was I with the contents, that I did not raise my head until the candle had burnt to the socket: as I was about to light another, I perceived daylight through the chinks of the window shutter. So I laid down the book, and walking softly out of the room, unlocked the shop door to get a little fresh air; for the room that old Nanny was sleeping in was, from dirt and neglect, very close. I could not, however, unlock the door without waking up Nanny who screamed out "Thieves!--murder! thieves!" until she was wide awake. "Oh! it is you, Jack?" said she at last. "I dreamt there were thieves breaking in." "Nothing but day breaking in, mother," said I. "How do you feel this morning?" "Better, Jack, better; I've not so much pain, but I'm very thirsty; give me some water." "No, mother; the doctor said you must not drink cold water. If you'll wait a little, I'll run and fetch you something warm. I won't be gone long, so try to go to sleep again." Old Nanny made no reply, but turned her face away from the light, as if in obedience to my orders. I locked the outer door and hastened home.