Year: 1879

I took Nell when she wasn't more'n
ten years old-took her from the poor.
house. l knew who she was. Her
mother used to be in my mothers family
when / was child. Her name was Sally
Jennings. She was good, smart girl,
but was terribly fond Of dressing up and
going around; sort Of ambitious to be
somebody, though her father was q
drunkard and she hadn't cent in the
world but what she earned at sewing and
housework. She made my mothers
house her home nigh on to four years,
cutting and sewing for the boys, and
helping to do the housework. I was
quite girl when she married that Ned
Gwiney. Some said she was married,
come said she wasn't-no one knew, for
sure. We only knew that she came to
town about year after she went away,
bringing with her little mite of
baby not more'n three weeks old. Mother
and child looked miser'ble enough.


Sally didn't say much, but she said
her husband was dead, and she was sick,
and she wanted my mother to keep her
for day or two. My mother had care
enough, mercy knows, with fourteen of
us children, but she packed us together,
somehow, and gave the poor thing bed
and place at the table, Sally was all
broken down when she came. She staid
two or three days; but she didn't stay no
more than that, for she died.


The doctor said she'd probably got up
too quick after her baby was born; but
there she was, dead; and there was the
baby to be taken care Of. NY mother
wouldn't take it; she wasn't well, herself,
and had so many Of her OWL, I being the
eldest, and about sixteen. My Uncle
and Aunt Peters had charge Of the poor
house then-good, clever folks as ever
was--so mother felt differently about
sending it there, than if there'd been
strangers in charge. Besides Aunt Pet
ers declared that the baby wouldn't live
to trouble anybody, long, and we give it
up with that idea.


But it did live, and grew up a fine,
healthy child, though odd. They called
it Nell, and it learned to play and work
and seemed like any child, only so queer
and still. l used to see her, when I
went over to the poorhouse to see Aunt
Peters, playing all by herself, with corn
cobs and bits Of crockery-and whisper
ing to the sticks she dressed up for dolls.


Well, I was married pretty soon, and
had children fast enough, dear knows.
But they we're all boys. After Luther
and Anson were big enough to get into
mischief, and Ben was in my arms, /
found Id got to have some one to help
me, and John, my husband, mentioned
my taking little girl, and bringing her
up. Thought right off Of Nell. She was
nigh on to ten years old, and q quiet,
handy thing, slipping round with
knack at doing good many things Aunt
Peters had taught her; 80 l had her come.


She was sight Of help, from the irst
tending the baby, and washing dishes,
and minding the children,as we'll as need
be. AS she got older, thought I
couldn't get along without her. Miles
and Rachel were born, and then the lit
tie one that died; and oil that time Nell
was as faithful as the sun. But faithful
as she was-l'm sure l never could find
but bit Of fault with her in all my life
4 used TO think she had things to take
up her mind and interest her which /
didn't know nothing about. She'd take
her knitting and sit down in the doorway
cf an evening after the children had
gone to bed, and sit and listen to the
frogs piping in the meadow, her fingers
busy, but her ewes looked out in the