The thimble was, indeed, remarkable; and it seemed extraordinary that such a one should belong to a poor woman, who had lately been in great distress.
"It is gold," said Mr. Russell, examining it, "and very old gold."
The mulatto woman sighed; and as she put the thimble upon her finger again, said, that she did not know whether it was gold or not; but she had a great value for it; that she had had it a great many years; that it had been given to her by the best friend she had ever had.
"Tell me about that best friend," said Oliver; "I like to hear about best friends."
"She was a very good friend indeed; though she was but young, scarcely bigger than yourself, at the time she gave me this thimble: she was my young mistress; I came all the way from Jamaica on purpose to find her out, and in hopes to live with her in my elder days."
"Jamaica!" cried Howard; "Jamaica!" cried Oliver, in the same breath; "what was her name?"
"I'll run and tell her; I'll run and bring her here, this instant!" said Oliver. But Mr. Russell caught hold of him, and detained him, whilst they further questioned the woman. Her answers were perfectly consistent and satisfactory. She said, that her mistress's estate in Jamaica had been sold just before she left the island; that some of the old slaves had been set at liberty, by orders, which came, she understood, in her mistress's last letter; and that, amongst the rest, she had been freed: that she had heard say that her good mistress had desired the agent to give her also some little _provision ground_, upon the plantation, but that this had never been done; and that she had sold all the clothes and little things she possessed, to raise money to pay for her passage to England, hoping to find her mistress in London. She added, that the agent had given her a direction to her mistress; but that she had, in vain, applied at at the house, and at every house in the same street. "Show us the direction, if you have it," said Mr. Russell. The woman said she had kept it very carefully; but now it was almost worn out. The direction was, however, still legible upon the ragged bit of paper which she produced--_To Mrs. Frances Howard, Portman Square, London_. The instant Mr. Russell was satisfied, he was as expeditious as Oliver himself; they all three went home immediately to Mrs. Howard: she had, some time before, been confined to her room by a severe toothache.