She spoke to him. He opened his eyes and smiled, and put his little mouth up to hers, saying, 'Kiss, mamma, kiss Fanky.' She took him in her arms, and covered him with kisses. Then she rose to dress herself. A strange but neat and tidy gown was on the chair, and she put it on; it fitted exactly. Franky then rolled over to the front of the bed, and putting first one little foot out and then the other, let himself down to the floor. 'Can it be?' she thought, 'can he both walk and talk?' Soon she heard the bolt turning in the door. It opened, and a pleasant, elderly woman, with a large bundle of keys at her girdle, entered the room. 'And how do you do this morning, my daughter?' she asked. 'Very well, ma'am. Where am I, ma'am?' 'You ask where? Then you _are_ well. You haven't been for a long, long time, my child.' 'And _where_ am I, ma'am?' 'Why, you are here--at Bloomingdale.' 'How long have I been here?' 'Let me see; it must be near fifteen months, now.' 'And who brought me?' 'A vessel captain. He said that just as he was hauling out of the dock at Boston, you jumped into the water with your child. One of his men sprang overboard and saved you. The vessel couldn't put back, so he brought you here.' 'Merciful heaven! did I do that?' 'Yes. You must have been sorely troubled, my child. But never mind--it is all over now. But hasn't Franky grown? Isn't he a handsome boy? Come here to grandma, my baby.' And the good woman sat down on a chair, while the little fellow ran to her, put his small arms around her neck, and kissed her over and over again. Children are intuitive judges of character; no really bad man or woman ever had the love of a child. 'Yes, he _has_ grown. You call him Franky, do you?' 'Yes; we didn't know his name. What had you named him?' 'John Hallet.' As she spoke those words, a sharp pang shot through her heart. It was well that her child had another name! She was soon sufficiently recovered to leave the asylum. By the kind offices of the matron, she got employment in a cap-factory, and a plain but comfortable boarding-place in the lower part of the city. She worked at the shop, and left Franky during the day with her landlady, a kind-hearted but poor woman. Her earnings were but three dollars a week, and their board was two and a quarter; but on the balance she contrived to furnish herself and her child with clothes. The only luxury she indulged in was an occasional _walk_, on Sunday to Bloomingdale, to see her good friend the kind-hearted matron. Thus things went on for two years; and if not happy, she was at least comfortable. Her father never relented; but her aunt wrote her often, and there was comfort in the thought that, at least, one of her early friends had not cast her off. The good lady, too, sent her now and again small remittances, but they came few and far between; for as the pious woman grew older, her heart gradually returned to its first love--the poor heathen.