outside the garden fence. Now, as she could not look through the fence,—for it was quite high and made of thick boards,—she ran quickly to the gate, and then round to the place where she had heard the crying. There she saw a little girl sitting upon the side-walk, with bare feet and legs, which were none of the whitest, wearing a dress of brown cloth with many tatters in it, and short black hair hanging over her face and head. Genevieve looked at her in amazement.
"Dear me!" she at last exclaimed, "where do you live?"
At this question the child stopped her crying, and pulling away her hair with both of her hands from her face, disclosed a pair of large black eyes, which, swollen with tears, regarded little Genevieve with sly, sleepy wonder.
It was not wonderful she should be astonished to behold so neat and pretty a child close by her side. Genevieve wore a blue frock and white apron, neat stockings and slippers, and pantalettes with broad ruffles. So she only gazed at Genevieve, without dreaming of answering her question.
"What is your name?" asked Genevieve.
"What is yours?" demanded the child.
"Mine is Genevieve. Tell me what yours is?"
"Hepsa. Do you live in there?" and Hepsa nodded her head towards the fence. Genevieve replied that she did.
"But tell me why you were crying?" she asked.