Our friends at Brompton were meanwhile passing their Christmas aftertheir fashion and in a manner by no means too cheerful.

Out of the hundred pounds a year, which was about the amount of herincome, the Widow Osborne had been in the habit of giving up nearlythree-fourths to her father and mother, for the expenses of herself andher little boy. With #120 more, supplied by Jos, this family of fourpeople, attended by a single Irish servant who also did for Clapp andhis wife, might manage to live in decent comfort through the year, andhold up their heads yet, and be able to give a friend a dish of teastill, after the storms and disappointments of their early life. Sedleystill maintained his ascendency over the family of Mr. Clapp, hisex-clerk. Clapp remembered the time when, sitting on the edge of thechair, he tossed off a bumper to the health of "Mrs. S--, Miss Emmy,and Mr. Joseph in India," at the merchant's rich table in RussellSquare. Time magnified the splendour of those recollections in thehonest clerk's bosom. Whenever he came up from the kitchen-parlour tothe drawing-room and partook of tea or gin-and-water with Mr. Sedley,he would say, "This was not what you was accustomed to once, sir," andas gravely and reverentially drink the health of the ladies as he haddone in the days of their utmost prosperity. He thought Miss 'Melia'splaying the divinest music ever performed, and her the finest lady. Henever would sit down before Sedley at the club even, nor would he havethat gentleman's character abused by any member of the society. He hadseen the first men in London shaking hands with Mr. S--; he said, "He'dknown him in times when Rothschild might be seen on 'Change with himany day, and he owed him personally everythink."

Clapp, with the best of characters and handwritings, had been able verysoon after his master's disaster to find other employment for himself."Such a little fish as me can swim in any bucket," he used to remark,and a member of the house from which old Sedley had seceded was veryglad to make use of Mr. Clapp's services and to reward them with acomfortable salary. In fine, all Sedley's wealthy friends had droppedoff one by one, and this poor ex-dependent still remained faithfullyattached to him.

Out of the small residue of her income which Amelia kept back forherself, the widow had need of all the thrift and care possible inorder to enable her to keep her darling boy dressed in such a manner asbecame George Osborne's son, and to defray the expenses of the littleschool to which, after much misgiving and reluctance and many secretpangs and fears on her own part, she had been induced to send the lad.She had sat up of nights conning lessons and spelling over crabbedgrammars and geography books in order to teach them to Georgy. She hadworked even at the Latin accidence, fondly hoping that she might becapable of instructing him in that language. To part with him all day,to send him out to the mercy of a schoolmaster's cane and hisschoolfellows' roughness, was almost like weaning him over again tothat weak mother, so tremulous and full of sensibility. He, for hispart, rushed off to the school with the utmost happiness. He waslonging for the change. That childish gladness wounded his mother, whowas herself so grieved to part with him. She would rather have had himmore sorry, she thought, and then was deeply repentant within herselffor daring to be so selfish as to wish her own son to be unhappy.

Georgy made great progress in the school, which was kept by a friend ofhis mother's constant admirer, the Rev. Mr. Binny. He brought homenumberless prizes and testimonials of ability. He told his mothercountless stories every night about his school-companions: and what afine fellow Lyons was, and what a sneak Sniffin was, and how Steel'sfather actually supplied the meat for the establishment, whereasGolding's mother came in a carriage to fetch him every Saturday, andhow Neat had straps to his trowsers--might he have straps?--and howBull Major was so strong (though only in Eutropius) that it wasbelieved he could lick the Usher, Mr. Ward, himself. So Amelia learnedto know every one of the boys in that school as well as Georgy himself,and of nights she used to help him in his exercises and puzzle herlittle head over his lessons as eagerly as if she was herself going inthe morning into the presence of the master. Once, after a certaincombat with Master Smith, George came home to his mother with a blackeye, and bragged prodigiously to his parent and his delighted oldgrandfather about his valour in the fight, in which, if the truth wasknown he did not behave with particular heroism, and in which hedecidedly had the worst. But Amelia has never forgiven that Smith tothis day, though he is now a peaceful apothecary near Leicester Square.

In these quiet labours and harmless cares the gentle widow's life waspassing away, a silver hair or two marking the progress of time on herhead and a line deepening ever so little on her fair forehead. Sheused to smile at these marks of time. "What matters it," she asked,"For an old woman like me?" All she hoped for was to live to see herson great, famous, and glorious, as he deserved to be. She kept hiscopy-books, his drawings, and compositions, and showed them about inher little circle as if they were miracles of genius. She confidedsome of these specimens to Miss Dobbin, to show them to Miss Osborne,George's aunt, to show them to Mr. Osborne himself--to make that oldman repent of his cruelty and ill feeling towards him who was gone.All her husband's faults and foibles she had buried in the grave withhim: she only remembered the lover, who had married her at allsacrifices, the noble husband, so brave and beautiful, in whose armsshe had hung on the morning when he had gone away to fight, and diegloriously for his king. From heaven the hero must be smiling down uponthat paragon of a boy whom he had left to comfort and console her. Wehave seen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr. Osborne), in his easychair in Russell Square, daily grew more violent and moody, and how hisdaughter, with her fine carriage, and her fine horses, and her name onhalf the public charity-lists of the town, was a lonely, miserable,persecuted old maid. She thought again and again of the beautifullittle boy, her brother's son, whom she had seen. She longed to beallowed to drive in the fine carriage to the house in which he lived,and she used to look out day after day as she took her solitary drivein the park, in hopes that she might see him. Her sister, the banker'slady, occasionally condescended to pay her old home and companion avisit in Russell Square. She brought a couple of sickly childrenattended by a prim nurse, and in a faint genteel giggling tone cackledto her sister about her fine acquaintance, and how her little Frederickwas the image of Lord Claud Lollypop and her sweet Maria had beennoticed by the Baroness as they were driving in their donkey-chaise atRoehampton. She urged her to make her papa do something for thedarlings. Frederick she had determined should go into the Guards; andif they made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullock was positivelyruining and pinching himself to death to buy land), how was the darlinggirl to be provided for? "I expect YOU, dear," Mrs. Bullock would say,"for of course my share of our Papa's property must go to the head ofthe house, you know. Dear Rhoda McMull will disengage the whole of theCastletoddy property as soon as poor dear Lord Castletoddy dies, who isquite epileptic; and little Macduff McMull will be ViscountCastletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane have settled theirfortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy. My darling Frederick mustpositively be an eldest son; and--and do ask Papa to bring us back hisaccount in Lombard Street, will you, dear? It doesn't look well, hisgoing to Stumpy and Rowdy's." After which kind of speeches, in whichfashion and the main chance were blended together, and after a kiss,which was like the contact of an oyster--Mrs. Frederick Bullock wouldgather her starched nurslings and simper back into her carriage.

Every visit which this leader of ton paid to her family was moreunlucky for her. Her father paid more money into Stumpy and Rowdy's.Her patronage became more and more insufferable. The poor widow in thelittle cottage at Brompton, guarding her treasure there, little knewhow eagerly some people coveted it.

On that night when Jane Osborne had told her father that she had seenhis grandson, the old man had made her no reply, but he had shown noanger--and had bade her good-night on going himself to his room inrather a kindly voice. And he must have meditated on what she said andhave made some inquiries of the Dobbin family regarding her visit, fora fortnight after it took place, he asked her where was her littleFrench watch and chain she used to wear?

"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great fright.

"Go and order another like it, or a better if you can get it," said theold gentleman and lapsed again into silence.

Of late the Misses Dobbin more than once repeated their entreaties toAmelia, to allow George to visit them. His aunt had shown herinclination; perhaps his grandfather himself, they hinted, might bedisposed to be reconciled to him. Surely, Amelia could not refuse suchadvantageous chances for the boy. Nor could she, but she acceded totheir overtures with a very heavy and suspicious heart, was alwaysuneasy during the child's absence from her, and welcomed him back as ifhe was rescued out of some danger. He brought back money and toys, atwhich the widow looked with alarm and jealousy; she asked him always ifhe had seen any gentleman--"Only old Sir William, who drove him aboutin the four-wheeled chaise, and Mr. Dobbin, who arrived on thebeautiful bay horse in the afternoon--in the green coat and pinkneck-cloth, with the gold-headed whip, who promised to show him theTower of London and take him out with the Surrey hounds." At last, hesaid, "There was an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows, and a broadhat, and large chain and seals." He came one day as the coachman waslunging Georgy round the lawn on the gray pony. "He looked at me verymuch. He shook very much. I said 'My name is Norval' after dinner.My aunt began to cry. She is always crying." Such was George's reporton that night.

Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather; and looked outfeverishly for a proposal which she was sure would follow, and whichcame, in fact, in a few days afterwards. Mr. Osborne formally offeredto take the boy and make him heir to the fortune which he had intendedthat his father should inherit. He would make Mrs. George Osborne anallowance, such as to assure her a decent competency. If Mrs. GeorgeOsborne proposed to marry again, as Mr. O. heard was her intention, hewould not withdraw that allowance. But it must be understood that thechild would live entirely with his grandfather in Russell Square, or atwhatever other place Mr. O. should select, and that he would beoccasionally permitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at her own residence.This message was brought or read to her in a letter one day, when hermother was from home and her father absent as usual in the City.

She was never seen angry but twice or thrice in her life, and it was inone of these moods that Mr. Osborne's attorney had the fortune tobehold her. She rose up trembling and flushing very much as soon as,after reading the letter, Mr. Poe handed it to her, and she tore thepaper into a hundred fragments, which she trod on. "I marry again! Itake money to part from my child! Who dares insult me by proposingsuch a thing? Tell Mr. Osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir--a cowardlyletter--I will not answer it. I wish you good morning, sir--and shebowed me out of the room like a tragedy Queen," said the lawyer whotold the story.

Her parents never remarked her agitation on that day, and she nevertold them of the interview. They had their own affairs to interestthem, affairs which deeply interested this innocent and unconsciouslady. The old gentleman, her father, was always dabbling inspeculation. We have seen how the wine company and the coal company hadfailed him. But, prowling about the City always eagerly and restlesslystill, he lighted upon some other scheme, of which he thought so wellthat he embarked in it in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Clapp, towhom indeed he never dared to tell how far he had engaged himself init. And as it was always Mr. Sedley's maxim not to talk about moneymatters before women, they had no inkling of the misfortunes that werein store for them until the unhappy old gentleman was forced to makegradual confessions.

The bills of the little household, which had been settled weekly, firstfell into arrear. The remittances had not arrived from India, Mr.Sedley told his wife with a disturbed face. As she had paid her billsvery regularly hitherto, one or two of the tradesmen to whom the poorlady was obliged to go round asking for time were very angry at a delayto which they were perfectly used from more irregular customers.Emmy's contribution, paid over cheerfully without any questions, keptthe little company in half-rations however. And the first six monthspassed away pretty easily, old Sedley still keeping up with the notionthat his shares must rise and that all would be well.

No sixty pounds, however, came to help the household at the end of thehalf year, and it fell deeper and deeper into trouble--Mrs. Sedley, whowas growing infirm and was much shaken, remained silent or wept a greatdeal with Mrs. Clapp in the kitchen. The butcher was particularlysurly, the grocer insolent: once or twice little Georgy had grumbledabout the dinners, and Amelia, who still would have been satisfied witha slice of bread for her own dinner, could not but perceive that herson was neglected and purchased little things out of her private purseto keep the boy in health.

At last they told her, or told her such a garbled story as people indifficulties tell. One day, her own money having been received, andAmelia about to pay it over, she, who had kept an account of the moneysexpended by her, proposed to keep a certain portion back out of herdividend, having contracted engagements for a new suit for Georgy.

Then it came out that Jos's remittances were not paid, that the housewas in difficulties, which Amelia ought to have seen before, her mothersaid, but she cared for nothing or nobody except Georgy. At this shepassed all her money across the table, without a word, to her mother,and returned to her room to cry her eyes out. She had a great access ofsensibility too that day, when obliged to go and countermand theclothes, the darling clothes on which she had set her heart forChristmas Day, and the cut and fashion of which she had arranged inmany conversations with a small milliner, her friend.

Hardest of all, she had to break the matter to Georgy, who made a loudoutcry. Everybody had new clothes at Christmas. The others wouldlaugh at him. He would have new clothes. She had promised them tohim. The poor widow had only kisses to give him. She darned the oldsuit in tears. She cast about among her little ornaments to see if shecould sell anything to procure the desired novelties. There was herIndia shawl that Dobbin had sent her. She remembered in former daysgoing with her mother to a fine India shop on Ludgate Hill, where theladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in these articles. Hercheeks flushed and her eyes shone with pleasure as she thought of thisresource, and she kissed away George to school in the morning, smilingbrightly after him. The boy felt that there was good news in her look.

Packing up her shawl in a handkerchief (another of the gifts of thegood Major), she hid them under her cloak and walked flushed and eagerall the way to Ludgate Hill, tripping along by the park wall andrunning over the crossings, so that many a man turned as she hurried byhim and looked after her rosy pretty face. She calculated how sheshould spend the proceeds of her shawl--how, besides the clothes, shewould buy the books that he longed for, and pay his half-year'sschooling; and how she would buy a cloak for her father instead of thatold great-coat which he wore. She was not mistaken as to the value ofthe Major's gift. It was a very fine and beautiful web, and themerchant made a very good bargain when he gave her twenty guineas forher shawl.

She ran on amazed and flurried with her riches to Darton's shop, in St.Paul's Churchyard, and there purchased the Parents' Assistant and theSandford and Merton Georgy longed for, and got into the coach therewith her parcel, and went home exulting. And she pleased herself bywriting in the fly-leaf in her neatest little hand, "George Osborne, AChristmas gift from his affectionate mother." The books are extant tothis day, with the fair delicate superscription.

She was going from her own room with the books in her hand to placethem on George's table, where he might find them on his return fromschool, when in the passage, she and her mother met. The gilt bindingsof the seven handsome little volumes caught the old lady's eye.

"What are those?" she said.

"Some books for Georgy," Amelia replied--"I--I promised them to him atChristmas."

"Books!" cried the elder lady indignantly, "Books, when the whole housewants bread! Books, when to keep you and your son in luxury, and yourdear father out of gaol, I've sold every trinket I had, the India shawlfrom my back even down to the very spoons, that our tradesmen mightn'tinsult us, and that Mr. Clapp, which indeed he is justly entitled,being not a hard landlord, and a civil man, and a father, might havehis rent. Oh, Amelia! you break my heart with your books and that boyof yours, whom you are ruining, though part with him you will not. Oh,Amelia, may God send you a more dutiful child than I have had! There'sJos, deserts his father in his old age; and there's George, who mightbe provided for, and who might be rich, going to school like a lord,with a gold watch and chain round his neck--while my dear, dear old manis without a sh--shilling." Hysteric sobs and cries ended Mrs. Sedley'sspeech--it echoed through every room in the small house, whereof theother female inmates heard every word of the colloquy.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" cried poor Amelia in reply. "You told menothing--I--I promised him the books. I--I only sold my shawl thismorning. Take the money--take everything"--and with quivering handsshe took out her silver, and her sovereigns--her precious goldensovereigns, which she thrust into the hands of her mother, whence theyoverflowed and tumbled, rolling down the stairs.

And then she went into her room, and sank down in despair and uttermisery. She saw it all now. Her selfishness was sacrificing the boy.But for her he might have wealth, station, education, and his father'splace, which the elder George had forfeited for her sake. She had butto speak the words, and her father was restored to competency and theboy raised to fortune. Oh, what a conviction it was to that tender andstricken heart!