depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of

which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.

'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have,

sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead

except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better

than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it

is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects