She undid some of her poor little dress, and bared her thin, deformed shoulders. They were scarred with red seams and black and blue lines.
"Why did they beat you?" asked Mrs. Seymour, her face turning white at the sight.
"'Cause I wouldn't let 'em hurt Dickie, not while I could hold 'em back; but it weren't of no use, they always got the best of me at the end."
"Poor little girl," said Mrs. Seymour, stroking Cherry's head tenderly; "poor little motherless girl!"
Cherry's eyes looked up gratefully.
"Oh, ma'am," she exclaimed earnestly, "if they'll keep Dickie safe from old Sairy I'll do anything for 'em—anything in the world that I can. I can learn things pretty quick—mother used to say so. Do you think as you could teach me anything?"
"I think we can, Cherry, if you're a good girl."
"I will try to be," she said humbly. "And please don't think, ma'am, as I've took to bad ways, 'cause—"
Cherry's voice was choked, and she could say no more.
Had the child guessed a certain holding back in Mrs. Seymour's manner.