“My two guineas—Lightfoot’s two guineas. I went to fetch ’em to give you, mammy; but the broken flower-pot that I put them in, and all’s gone!—quite gone!” repeated he, checking his sobs. “I saw them safe last night, and was showing ’em to Lightfoot; and I was so glad to think I had earned them all myself; and I thought how surprised you’d look, and how glad you’d be, and how you’d kiss me, and all!” His mother listened to him with the greatest surprise, whilst his mistress stood in silence, looking first at the old woman, and then at Jem with a penetrating eye, as if she suspected the truth of his story, and was afraid of becoming the dupe of her own compassion. “This is a very strange thing!” said she, gravely. “How came you to leave all your money in a broken flower-pot in the stable? How came you not to give it to your mother to take care of?” “Why, don’t you remember?” said Jem, looking up, in the midst of his tears—“why, don’t you remember you, your own self, bid me not tell her about it till you were by?” “And did you not tell her?” “Nay, ask mammy,” said Jem, a little offended; and when afterwards the lady went on questioning him in a severe manner, as if she did not believe him, he at last made no answer. “Oh, Jem! Jem! why don’t you speak to the lady?” said his mother. “I have spoke, and spoke the truth,” said Jem, proudly; “and she did not believe me.” Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be without suspicion, maintained a cold manner, and determined to wait the event without interfering, saying only, that she hoped the money would be found, and advised Jem to have done crying. “I have done,” said Jem; “I shall cry no more.” And as he had the greatest command over himself, he actually did not shed another tear, not even when the farmer got up to go, saying, he could wait no longer. Jem silently went to bring out Lightfoot. The lady now took her seat, where she could see all that passed at the open parlour-window. The old woman stood at the door, and several idle people of the village, who had gathered round the lady’s carriage examining it, turned about to listen. In a minute or two Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leading Lightfoot and, when he came up, without saying a word, put the bridle into Farmer Truck’s hand. “He _has been_ a good horse,” said the farmer. “He _is_ a good horse!” cried Jem, and threw his arm over Lightfoot’s neck, hiding his own face as he leaned upon him. At this instant a party of milk-women went by; and one of them, having set down her pail, came behind Jem, and gave him a pretty smart blow upon the back. He looked up. “And don’t you know me?” said she. “I forget,” said Jem; “I think I have seen your face before, but I forget.”