LETTER XVII MY DEAREST DAUGHTER,
Welcome, welcome, ten times welcome shall you be to us; for you come
to us innocent, and happy, and honest; and you are the staff of our old
age, and our comfort. And though we cannot do for you as we would, yet,
fear not, we shall live happily together; and what with my diligent
labour, and your poor mother's spinning, and your needle-work, I make no
doubt we shall do better and better. Only your poor mother's eyes begin
to fail her; though, I bless God, I am as strong and able, and willing
to labour as ever; and, O my dear child! your virtue has made me, I
think, stronger and better than I was before. What blessed things are
trials and temptations, when we have the strength to resist and subdue
them! But I am uneasy about those same four guineas; I think you should give
them back again to your master; and yet I have broken them. Alas! I have
only three left; but I will borrow the fourth, if I can, part upon my
wages, and part of Mrs. Mumford, and send the whole sum back to you,
that you may return it, against John comes next, if he comes again
before you. I want to know how you come. I fancy honest John will be glad to bear
you company part of the way, if your master is not so cross as to forbid
him. And if I know time enough, your mother will go one five miles, and
I will go ten on the way, or till I meet you, as far as one holiday will
go; for that I can get leave to make on such an occasion.
And we shall receive you with more pleasure than we had at your birth,
when all the worst was over; or than we ever had in our lives. And so God bless you till the happy time comes! say both your mother and
I, which is all at present, from
Your truly loving PARENTS.
LETTER XVIII
DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I thank you a thousand times for your goodness to me, expressed in your
last letter. I now long to get my business done, and come to my new old
lot again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my
master has turned me off: and as I shall come to you an honest daughter,
what pleasure it is to what I should have had, if I could not have seen
you but as a guilty one. Well, my writing-time will soon be over, and so
I will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my
last letter. I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and feared she
was angry; and when I had finished my letter, I longed for her coming
to bed. At last she came up, but seemed shy and reserved; and I said,
My dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I
hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far; and that she had
a great deal of talk with my master, after I was gone; that he seemed
moved at what I said, and at my falling on my knees to him, and my
prayer for him, at my going away. He said I was a strange girl; he knew
not what to make of me. And is she gone? said he: I intended to say
something else to her; but she behaved so oddly, that I had not power
to stop her. She asked, if she should call me again? He said, Yes; and
then, No, let her go; it is best for her and me too; and she shall go,
now I have given her warning. Where she had it, I can't tell; but I
never met with the fellow of her in any life, at any age. She said,
he had ordered her not to tell me all: but she believed he would never
offer any thing to me again; and I might stay, she fancied, if I would
beg it as a favour; though she was not sure neither.