"Only half a quartern," stammered the boy in a frightened voice.
  "And she has had just as much this morning already?"
  "No, it was yesterday," replied the boy.
  "Two halves make a whole," said the mayor. "She's good fornothing. What a sad thing it is with these people. Tell your mothershe ought to be ashamed of herself. Don't you become a drunkard, but Iexpect you will though. Poor child! there, go now."
  The boy went on his way with his cap in his hand, while the windfluttered his golden hair till the locks stood up straight. Heturned round the corner of the street into the little lane that led tothe river, where his mother stood in the water by her washing bench,beating the linen with a heavy wooden bar. The floodgates at themill had been drawn up, and as the water rolled rapidly on, the sheetswere dragged along by the stream, and nearly overturned the bench,so that the washer-woman was obliged to lean against it to keep itsteady. "I have been very nearly carried away," she said; "it is agood thing that you are come, for I want something to strengthen me.It is cold in the water, and I have stood here six hours. Have youbrought anything for me?"
  The boy drew the bottle from his pocket, and the mother put itto her lips, and drank a little.
  "Ah, how much good that does, and how it warms me," she said;"it is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. Drink a little, my boy;you look quite pale; you are shivering in your thin clothes, andautumn has really come. Oh, how cold the water is! I hope I shallnot be ill. But no, I must not be afraid of that. Give me a littlemore, and you may have a sip too, but only a sip; you must not getused to it, my poor, dear child." She stepped up to the bridge onwhich the boy stood as she spoke, and came on shore. The water drippedfrom the straw mat which she had bound round her body, and from hergown. "I work hard and suffer pain with my poor hands," said she, "butI do it willingly, that I may be able to bring you up honestly andtruthfully, my dear boy."
  At the same moment, a woman, rather older than herself, cametowards them. She was a miserable-looking object, lame of one leg, andwith a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which wasblind. This curl was intended to conceal the blind eye, but it madethe defect only more visible. She was a friend of the laundress, andwas called, among the neighbors, "Lame Martha, with the curl." "Oh,you poor thing; how you do work, standing there in the water!" sheexclaimed. "You really do need something to give you a littlewarmth, and yet spiteful people cry out about the few drops you take."And then Martha repeated to the laundress, in a very few minutes,all that the mayor had said to her boy, which she had overheard; andshe felt very angry that any man could speak, as he had done, of amother to her own child, about the few drops she had taken; and shewas still more angry because, on that very day, the mayor was going tohave a dinner-party, at which there would be wine, strong, richwine, drunk by the bottle. "Many will take more than they ought, butthey don't call that drinking! They are all right, you are good fornothing indeed!" cried Martha indignantly.
  "And so he spoke to you in that way, did he, my child?" said thewasher-woman, and her lips trembled as she spoke. "He says you havea mother who is good for nothing. Well, perhaps he is right, but heshould not have said it to my child. How much has happened to mefrom that house!"
  "Yes," said Martha; "I remember you were in service there, andlived in the house when the mayor's parents were alive; how many yearsago that is. Bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and peoplemay well be thirsty," and Martha smiled. "The mayor's greatdinner-party to-day ought to have been put off, but the news cametoo late. The footman told me the dinner was already cooked, when aletter came to say that the mayor's younger brother in Copenhagen isdead."
  "Dead!"