The woman also sat down, and waited in some little curiosity to find out the object of the stranger's visit.

"You have a young child at nurse?" he said.

"Yes, sir; this one that I have upon my lap. That one in the cradle is my own."

"Are you strong enough to nurse two children?" inquired Mr. Berners.

"Betsy Ann," said the woman, turning to the little girl, "call your sister Nancy 'Lizabeth in here."

The child went into a back kitchen, and returned with another child the counterpart of herself.

"There, now! You two stand right up there before the gentleman."

The children joined hands, and stood before Mr. Berners for inspection.

"There, now, sir! You look at them."

"They are very well worth looking at; a pair of stout, rosy, healthy, happy la.s.ses, I'm sure," said Mr. Berners, smiling at them, and feeling in his pocket for some loose coins.

"Well, sir, them's my twins. I nussed 'em both myself without any help from a bottle--either a bottle for _them_, sir, or a bottle for _myself_," said the mother, proudly.

"They do you much credit, certainly," said Mr. Berners, who had now found two half-eagles.

"Well, sir, they never had a day's sickness in their lives. I showed 'em to you, sir, to prove as I could nuss two children successful."

"I'm convinced of it."

"One of 'em is named Elizabeth Ann, and the other Ann Elizabeth. The same name because they're twins, sir, only put backwards and forwards like, so as to tell one gal's name from t'other's. And I call 'em Betsy Ann and Nancy 'Lizabeth on week-days and work days; and I call 'em Elizabeth Ann and Ann Elizabeth on Sundays and company days."

"Quite right," said Mr. Berners, smiling.

"And now, gals, you may go," said the mother.

"Here, my dears! Here is somethings to buy you a Christmas gift each,"

said Mr. Berners, slipping the gold coins into the hands of the children.

"There! thank the gentleman, and then run out and peel the potatoes and turnips. And be sure you don't lose your pennies," said the woman, who had no idea that the children's gifts had been half-eagles.

The well-trained little girls obeyed their mother in every particular.

And as soon as they had left the room, Mr. Berners turned to the woman and inquired:

"Are those fine children your only ones?"

"I never had any but them until about three months ago, when that boy in the cradle came to put a surprise on me. Look at him, sir! An't he a hearty little chap for a three monther?"

"Indeed he is!" acknowledged Mr. Berners, as he turned down the coverlet and gazed at the fat, rosy babe. "And now," he continued, as he replaced the cover, "will you let me look at your nurse-child? I--I am its guardian, and responsible for the expense of its rearing."

"So I judged, sir, when I first saw you. The gentleman that brought the child to me, and gave me a hundred dollars with it, told me how, in about a couple of months, the guardian of the child would come to make further arrangements. And you're him, sir?"

"I am he," gravely replied Lyon Berners, as he gazed fondly down on the face of his sleeping babe, and traced in the delicate features and silky black hair and faintly drawn black eye-brows the lineaments of its mother.

"Well, sir, I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that the child is in good hands."

"I have no doubt of it. And," he continued, after some hesitation, "I can tell you, for _your_ satisfaction, that the child is all right. She was born in lawful wedlock."

"I'm glad to hear that, for the child's sake, sir; though if what you tell me is true, as I suppose it is, I don't see why the parents can't own their child."

"There are good and sufficient reasons which may be made known to you at some future time," replied Mr. Berners.

"Humph! then I s'pose it's a case of a _secret_ marriage, that can't be acknowledged yet a while, upon account of offending rich parents, and being cut off from their property or something. I have heard of such things before now. Well, sir, I don't want to intrude on your secrets, and I know how to keep a still tongue in my head. And as for the baby, sir, _she_ has made her own way into my heart, and whatever her parents have been and done, I shall love and nuss her as if she was my own."

"You are a good woman, Mrs. Fugitt; and now to business. I, as guardian to that child, wish to make some definite arrangement for her support for the next two years at least."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know lawyer Sheridan?"

"Of course I do, sir; he drawed up the papers between the Colonel and my old man when my old man made an engagement with the Colonel to oversee the plantation for five years."

"Very well. This Mr. Sheridan will pay you quarterly installments of money amounting to six hundred dollars a year for the support of the child."

The overseer's wife was a very simple-hearted woman, so she burst out, with her surprise:

"But that is a great deal of money, sir. More than twice too much."

"I do not think so. The child is ent.i.tled to much more, if she could use it. At any rate, that is her allowance. And here is the first quarterly payment in advance," said Mr. Berners, placing a roll of bank-notes on the woman's lap.

"But, sir, I haven't used a quarter part of what the other gentleman paid me. In truth, I only spent what I did to buy the baby's clothes, of which she hadn't a rag but what was on her when the other gentleman put her in my arms."

"So much the more reason I should advance you this money."

"Why? because I have got so much already, sir?"

"--Because you are so simple and honest. Few people would believe in such simplicity and honesty, Mrs. Fugitt."

"Then Lord forgive 'em, sir."

"Amen. And now, Mrs. Fugitt, a last word, and then good-bye. If you should ever wish to communicate with me, you may do it by inclosing a letter to Mr. Sheridan, or sending a message by him."

"Yes, sir."

"And now let me take another look at this little one."

"But there is another thing, sir: What is her name? I asked the gentleman, and he said he did not know, but you would tell me."

"'Her name?'" repeated Lyon Berners, as he gazed down upon the face of the sleeping child--the prison-born child--"Her name? It is Ingemisca; call her Ingemisca."

"Yes, sir," said the woman in a very low tone, for she was awed by the looks and words of the speaker--"Yes, sir; but would you please to write it on a slip of paper? It is a strange, solemn sort of a sound, and I'm sure I never could remember it."