"Oh! you are the child, are you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I am sorry I haven't got anything for you," said the milliner, shaking her head.
"It's not that, ma'am. If you please, I want to learn needlework."
"Why should you do that," returned the milliner, "with me before you? It has not done me much good."
"Nothing—whatever it is—seems to have done anybody much good who comes here," she returned in her simple way; "but I want to learn, just the same."
"I am afraid you are so weak, you see," the milliner objected.
"I don't think I am weak, ma'am."
"And you are so very, very little, you see," the milliner objected.
"Yes, I am afraid I am very little indeed," returned the Child of the Marshalsea; and so began to sob over that unfortunate smallness of hers, which came so often in her way. The milliner—who was not unkind or hardhearted, only badly in debt—was touched, took her in hand with good-will, found her the most patient and earnest of pupils, and made her a good workwoman.