"
Then the sad party with their lifeless burden went through the streets.
After it, went the dolls' dressmaker, hiding her face in the Jewish
skirts, and clinging to them with one hand, while with the other she
plied her stick, and at last the little home in Church Street
was reached.
Many flaunting dolls had to be gaily dressed, before the money was in
the dressmaker's pocket to get mourning for her father. As Mr. Riah sat
by, helping her in such small ways as he could, he found it difficult to
make out whether she realized that the deceased had really been
her father.
"If my poor boy," she would say, "had been brought up better, he might
have done better. Not that I reproach myself. I hope I have no cause
for that."
"None, indeed, Jenny, I am very certain."
"Thank you, godmother. It cheers me to hear you say so. But you see it
is so hard to bring up a child well, when you work, work, work, all day.
When he was out of employment, I couldn't always keep him near me. He
got fractious and nervous, and I was obliged to let him go into the
streets. And he never did well in the streets, he never did well out of
sight. How often it happens with children! How can I say what I might
have turned out myself, but for my back having been so bad and my legs
so queer, when I was young!" the dressmaker would go on. "I had nothing
to do but work, so I worked. I couldn't play. But my poor, unfortunate
child could play, and it turned out worse for him.
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