“Well, that I do, sir,” replied the old lady. “People’s eyes, at my time of life, don’t improve with age, sir.”
“I could have told you that,” rejoined Mr. Brownlow; “but put on your glasses, and see if you can’t find out what you were wanted for, will you?”
The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for her spectacles. But Oliver’s patience was not proof against this new trial; and yielding to his first impulse, he sprang into her arms.
“God be good to me!” cried the old lady, embracing him; “it is my innocent boy!”
“My dear old nurse!” cried Oliver.
“He would come back—I knew he would,” said the old lady, holding him in her arms. “How well he looks, and how like a gentleman’s son he is dressed again! Where have you been, this long, long while? Ah! the same sweet face, but not so pale; the same soft eye, but not so sad. I have never forgotten them or his quiet smile, but have seen them every day, side by side with those of