The child interested Pepsie at once. Although she had seen very few high-bred children in her short life, she noticed that this little one was different from the small inhabitants of Good Children Street. Her white frock, black sash, and wide black hat had a certain grace uncommon in that quarter, and every movement and step had an elegant ease, very unlike the good-natured little creoles who played around Pepsie’s window.
However, it was not only the child’s beauty, her tasteful, pretty dress, and high-bred air that interested Pepsie; it was the pale, mournful little face, and the frail little figure, looking so wan and ill. The woman held her by the hand, and she walked very slowly and feebly; the robust, black-eyed young man carried a small basket, which the child watched constantly.
Pepsie could not remove her eyes from the house, so anxious was she to see the child again; but, instead of coming out, as she expected they would after they had looked at the house, much to her joy she saw the young man flinging open the shutters and doors, with quite an air of ownership; then she saw the woman take off her bonnet and veil, and the child’s hat, and hang them on a hook near the window. Presently, the little girl came out on the small side-gallery with something in her arms. Pepsie strained her eyes, and leaned forward as far as her lameness would allow her in order to see what the child had.
“It’s a cat; no, it’s a dog; no, it isn’t. Why, it must be a bird. I can see it flutter its wings. Yes, it’s a bird, a large, strange-looking bird. I wonder what it is!” And Pepsie, in her excitement and undue curiosity, almost tipped out of her chair, while the child looked around her with a listless, uninterested air, and then sat down on the steps, hugging the bird closely and stroking its feathers.
“Certainly, they’ve come to stay,” said Pepsie to herself, “or they wouldn’t open all the windows, and take off their things. Oh, I wonder if they have; I’ll just get my cards, and find out.”
But Pepsie’s oracle was doomed to remain silent, for, before she got them spread on the table, there was a rumbling of wheels in the street, and a furniture-wagon, pretty well loaded, drove up to the door. Pepsie swept her cards into the drawer, and watched it unload with great satisfaction.
At the same moment, the active Tite Souris entered like a whirlwind, her braids of wool sticking up, and her face all eyes and teeth. She had been out on the banquette, and was bursting with news.
“Oh, Miss Peps’, Miss Peps’, sum un’s done tuk dat house ov’ yon’er, an’ is a-movin’ in dis ver’ minit. It’s a woman an’ a boy, an’ a littl’ yaller gal. I means a littl’ gal wid yaller ha’r all ove’ her, an’ she got a littl’ long-legged goslin’, a-huggin’ it up like she awful fond uv it.”
“Oh, stop, Tite; go away to your work,” cried Pepsie, too busy to listen to her voluble handmaid. “Don’t I see them without your telling me? You’d better finish scouring your kitchen, or mama’ll get after you when she comes home.”
“Shore ’nuff, I’se a-scourin’, Miss Peps’, an’ I’se jes a dyin tu git out on dat banquette; dat banquette’s a-spilin’ might’ bad ter be cleaned. Let me do dat banquette right now, Miss Peps’, an’ I’s gwine scour lak fury bymeby.”