“I heard Uncle Giles say, ‘T’ank God, we’ve dot a little time to breathe,’ and Aunt Piercey dave a great, great, big puff, and sat down as if she was t’ankful, too. It is only you, Movver, that looks sad.” “Osy, did you ever hear of the little pitchers that have long ears?” “I know what it means, too,” said the child. “It means me; but I tan’t help it when people say fings. Movver, are you fond of Cousin Gervase, that you looks like that? like you were doing to cry?” Was she fond of Gervase, poor boy? Margaret could not even claim that excuse for being sad. Was she fond of any of the people by whom she was surrounded, who held her in subjection? At least, she was terribly perturbed by the cloud that hung over them--the possible trouble that was about to befall them. Poor Gervase was not very much to build hopes or wishes upon, but he was all they had; and if it were possible that he was meditating any such steps, what a terrible blow for his father and mother!--a stroke which they would feel to the bottom of their hearts. For himself, was it, indeed, so sad? Was it not, perhaps, the best thing he could do? Her mind went over the possibilities as by a lightning flash. Patty--if it was Patty--if there was anything in it--was probably the best wife he could get. She was energetic and determined; she would take care of him for her own sake. And who else would marry the Softy? Margaret’s mind leapt on further to possible results, and to a sudden perception that little Osy, had he ever had any chance of succession, would be hopelessly set aside by this step, and the only possible reward of her own slavery be swept from her horizon. This forced itself upon her, through the crowd of other thoughts, with a chill to her heart. But what chance had Osy ever had? And who could put any confidence in the statement of Gervase to the child? Perhaps it was only “his fun.” The little theft of the money was nothing remarkable; for Gervase, who never had any money, was always on the look-out for unconsidered trifles, which he borrowed eagerly. Perhaps this was all. Perhaps the half-witted young man meant nothing but a joke--one of his kind of jokes--for why should he have betrayed himself to little Osy? On the other hand, there were those allusions to some one who was to meet him, which he had laughed at so boisterously, and which she could not imagine referred to Dr. Gregson. Margaret’s bewilderment grew greater the more she thought. “Osy,” she said, as they turned up the avenue, “you must forget all this, for it is nonsense.” “About my big, big, silver penny?” said the child, the water now standing in his eyes; for the more he thought of his loss, which he had carried off in childish pride with a high hand at first, the more Osy felt it. “It is not nonsense, Movver,” he said, “for it is true.”