tyrant, who took great pleasure in tormenting animals.
But my unfortunate name—that, too, added to my miseries. I told you it was Pan. I was called Pat from the first; but when they found out my father's name, it was an easy thing to call me Patty Pan; and by this name I went for years. Oh, how hard it was to my sensitive spirit to hear my father's—my mother's name turned into ridicule by these inconsiderate and callous people.
Every Sunday poor Patrick met me in one of the public squares, and there we would talk together, and he would tell me anecdote after anecdote of my parents and their family, always making them out grandees at home. Both my father and mother were from Scotland, and I learned that my mother had displeased her only brother by her marriage, and that his ill-natured conduct towards her caused them to come to America.
"You are come of a good stock, Patrick, dear," said he to me, when I was about fourteen years old, "barring that your uncle was such a nigger. I have written twice to him, my jewel, and its never an answer I've got, so I'll trouble him no more, only I'll just be for telling Mr. Bartlett who you are; and in case your uncle should ever deign to inquire about you, he can answer for you. I've kept all safe, honey; here in this old tobacco-box is the certificates of your parents' marriage, and of your birth, and, oh, wo's me, of their death too; and here is an account of your money in the savings bank, and not a penny has been touched since you began your trade, so that the five hundred dollars are all whole again, and something over."
It was in vain that I entreated the poor fellow to take the interest and spend it on himself; he would not do it; and from seeing his self-denial I found it impossible to make use of it myself, although I was
