Her companion smiled as he said: "Some sweetheart has given you that basket—it seems but a common basket too."
"I have had it—oh, ever since—since—I don't know how long! It came with me from France—it was full of little toys. They are gone—I am so sorry!"
"How old are you?"
"I don't know."
"My pretty one," said the stranger, with deep pity in his rich voice, "your mother should not let you go out alone at this hour."
"Mother!—mother!" repeated the girl, in a tone of surprise.
"Have you no mother?"
"No! I had a father once. But he died, they say. I did not see him die. I sometimes cry when I think that I shall never, never see him again! But," she said, changing her accent from melancholy almost to joy, "he is to have a grave here like the other girl's fathers—a fine stone upon it —and all to be done with my money!"
"Your money, my child?"
"Yes; the money I make. I sell my work and take the money to my grandfather; but I lay by a little every week for a gravestone for my father."