"It's my dead child," says Jenny, walking up and down as she nurses, "that makes me love this child so dear, and it's my dead child that makes her love it so dear too, as even to think of its being taken away from her now. While she thinks that, I think what fortune would I give to have my darling back. But we mean the same thing, if we knew how to say it, us two mothers does in our poor hearts!"
As Mr. Snagsby blows his nose and coughs his cough of sympathy, a step is heard without. Mr. Bucket throws his light into the doorway and says to Mr. Snagsby, "Now, what do you say to Toughy? Will HE do?"
"That's Jo," says Mr. Snagsby.
Jo stands amazed in the disk of light, like a ragged figure in a magic-lantern, trembling to think that he has offended against the law in not having moved on far enough. Mr. Snagsby, however, giving him the consolatory assurance, "It's only a job you will be paid for, Jo," he recovers; and on being taken outside by Mr. Bucket for a little private confabulation, tells his tale satisfactorily, though out of breath.

"It's my dead child," says Jenny, walking up and down as she nurses, "that makes us both love this child so dear. She thinks of its being taken away from her, and I think what fortune would I give to have my darling back. But we mean the same thing in our poor hearts!"
As Mr. Snagsby blows his nose and coughs his cough of sympathy, a step is heard outside. Mr. Bucket shines his light into the doorway and says to Mr. Snagsby, "Now, what do you say to Toughy? Will he do?"
"That's Jo," says Mr. Snagsby.
Jo stands amazed in the disk of light, trembling to think that he has offended against the law in not having moved on far enough. Mr. Snagsby, however, assuring him, "It's only a job you will be paid for, Jo," he recovers; and on being taken outside by Mr. Bucket, tells his tale satisfactorily.
