Elizabeth Gaskell,
Mary Barton — Chapter XVII
(1848)
“ It was getting dark, but he loitered on, returning no greeting to any one.A child's cry caught his ear. His thoughts were running on little Tom; on the dead and buried child of happier years. He followed the sound of the wail, that might have been HIS, and found a poor little mortal, who had lost his way, and whose grief had choked up his thoughts to the single want, "Mammy, mammy." ”
