After some further conversation, Miss Mortimer put an end to our visit. I own I was somewhat struck with the contrast between the cottager's obligations to my mother and to myself; and I had a desire to place this matter on a footing less painful to my feelings, or, to speak more justly, less galling to my pride. For this reason, when we had gone a few steps from the cottage, I returned, pretending that I had forgotten my handkerchief. 'Mrs Wells,' said I, 'I have a great desire to possess Fido,--will you make an exchange with me?' continued I, presenting my purse to her.
The good woman coloured deeply; and, drawing back with a little air of stateliness, said, 'You are welcome to poor Fido, ma'am. Indeed, as for that, your mother's child is welcome to the best I have; but I cannot think of selling the poor dumb animal. No,' said she, her spirit struggling with the sob that was rising in her throat, 'I shall be poorly off indeed, before I sell the least thing that ever was hers.'
I own, I felt myself colour in my turn, as I awkwardly withdrew my purse; and I had not the confidence to look the woman in the face, while I said, 'Give me poor Fido, then, for my mother's sake; and perhaps the time may come when you will allow me the pleasure of assisting you for my own.'
'One of the girls, ma'am, shall take him to the Park this evening. I know Miss Mortimer wished to have him, but you have the best right to him; and I hope you will make him be kindly treated, ma'am; he is used to kindness.'
I thanked the good woman, promised attention to her favourite, and hurried away. Fido arrived at the Park that afternoon, and soon became the most formidable rival of Miss Arnold; nor unjustly, for he was playful, fawning, and seemingly affectionate,--the very qualities to which she owed my favour.
'See, my dear Ellen,' said Miss Mortimer, when I rejoined her, 'see how your mother's mornings were spent.' Had any one but my mother furnished the subject of this apostrophe; or had my friend Miss Arnold been present to witness its application, I should certainly have turned it off, by ridiculing the absurdity of a handsome woman of fashion spending her time in teaching cottage girls mantua-making and morality. But now, tenderness stealing on my self-reproach, I only answered with a sigh, 'Ah! my mother was an angel; I must not pretend to resemble her.'