For nearly two years Joey had filled his situation as chancellor of the exchequer to Mrs Chopper. He certainly did not feel himself always in the humour or the disposition for business, especially during the hard winter months, when, seated almost immovably in the boat during the best portion of the day, he would find his fingers so completely dead, that he could not hold his pen. But there is no situation, under any of the powers that be, that has not some drawback. People may say that a sinecure is one that has not its disadvantages; but such is not the case--there is the disgrace of holding it. At all events, Joey's place was no sinecure, for he was up early, and was employed the whole of the day. Nancy, the young woman we have introduced to our readers, had contracted a great regard for our hero, ever since his offering her his money; and Joey was equally partial to her, for she possessed a warm heart and much good feeling, she would very often run upstairs into Mrs Chopper's room, to talk with the old lady and to see Joey, and would then take out her thimble and needle, examine his clothes, and make the necessary repairs. "I saw you walking with little Emma Phillips, Peter," said Nancy: "where did you come to know her?" "I met her in the road the day that I came down to Gravesend." "Well, I'm sure! and do you speak to every young lady you chance to meet?" "No; but I was unhappy, and she was very kind to me." "She's a very sweet child, or rather, I can only say that she was, when I knew her?" "When did you know her?" "Four or five years ago. I lived for a short time with Mrs Phillips; that was when I was a good girl." "Yes, indeed, Nancy," said Mrs Chopper, shaking her head. "Why ain't you good, now, Nancy?" replied Joey. "Because--" said Nancy. "Because why?" "Because I am not good," replied the girl; "and now, Peter, don't ask any more questions, or you'll make me cry. Heigho! I think crying very pleasant now and then; one's heart feels fresher, like flowers after the rain. Peter, where are your father and mother?" "I don't know; I left them at home." "You left them at home! but do you never hear from them? do you never write?" "No." "But why not? I am sure they have brought you up well. They must be very good people--are they not?" Joey could not answer; how could he say that his father was a good man after what had passed? "You don't answer me, Peter; don't you love your father and mother dearly?" "Yes, indeed I do; but I must not write to them." "Well, I must say there is something about Peter and his parents which I cannot understand, and which I have often tried to make him tell, and he will not," said Mrs Chopper. "Poaching ain't such a great crime, especially in a boy. I can't see why he should not write to his father and mother, at all events, I hope, Peter, you have told me the truth?"