“Why,” continued Maurice, “there was Mr. Arkwright, the man that first set a going all our cotton frames here, was no better than William Deane, and yet came at last to make a power of money. It stands to reason, any how, that William Deane is hurting nobody, nor himself neither; and, moreover, he may divert himself his own way, without being taken to task by man, woman, or child. As to children, he’s very good to my child; there’s one loves him,” pointing to George, “and I’m glad of it: for I should be ashamed, so I should, that my flesh and blood should be in any ways disregardful or ungracious to those that be kind and good to them.” Mrs. Dolly, swelling with anger, repeated in a scornful voice, “Disregardful, ungracious! I wonder folks can talk so to me! But this is all the gratitude one meets with, in this world, for all one does. Well, well! I’m an old woman, and shall soon be out of people’s way; and then they will be sorry they did not use me better; and then they’ll bethink them that it is not so easy to gain a friend as to lose a friend; and then--” Here Mrs. Dolly’s voice was stopped by her sobs; and Maurice, who was a very good-natured man, and much disposed to gratitude, said he begged her pardon a thousand times, if he had done any thing to offend her; and declared his only wish was to please and satisfy her, if she would but tell him how. She continued sobbing, without making any answer, for some time: but at last she cried, “My ad--my ad--my ad-vice is never taken in any thing!” Maurice declared he was ready to take her advice, if that was the only way to make her easy in her mind. “I know what you mean, now,” added he: “you are still harping upon the lottery ticket. Well, I’ll buy a ticket this day week, after I’ve sold the cow I bought at the fair. Will you have done sobbing, now, cousin Dolly?” “Indeed, cousin Maurice, it is only for your own sake I speak,” said she, wiping her eyes. “You know you was always a favourite of mine from your childhood up; I nursed you, and had you on my knee, and foretold often and often you would make a fortune, so I did. And will you buy the ticket I dreamed about, hey?” Maurice assured her that, if it was to be had, he would. The cow was accordingly sold the following week, and the ticket in the lottery was bought. It was not, however, the number about which Mrs. Dolly had dreamed, for that was already purchased by some other person. The ticket Maurice bought was number 80; and, after he had got it, his cousin Dolly continually deplored that it was not the very number of which she dreamed. It would have been better not to have taken her advice at all than to have taken it when it was too late.