But it is time I let out my little prisoner, poor little Edith, (that was her real name.)
"Is she gone a great way off? Can't she get me ever?" said the frightened child, peeping round the room as if she expected to see her jump out of the closet, or spring from under the bed. "Will you keep hold of my hand all the time when it comes night? Can't they get me then?"
"No, no, my darling—never, never. Come here and sit on my knee. Now, tell me, how came you to live with Bridget?"
"I was going to school," said Edith, "and I stopped to look at some pretty pictures in a shop window, when this Bridget came up to me and said, 'Which of them do you like best, dear?'—and I said, 'The little boy asleep on the dog's neck;' and she said, 'If you will come round the corner with me, I will give you one just like it;' and I said, 'No; I shall be late at school, and my mamma wouldn't like it;' and then she said it wouldn't take but a minute, and she led me into an alley, and when she got there she threw her shawl over my head, and ran with me; and when she took the shawl off, I was in a house with some Irish people, and Bridget said, 'I've got her!—she will do nicely, sure, to play the tambourine. Won't the pretty face of her bring the shillings?'
"And then I cried, and begged them to take me back to mamma; and Bridget held up a great stick, and said, 'Do you see that?' and then she took off the clothes I had on, and put on these, and brought the tambourine, and told me how to play it; and when my fingers trembled so that I couldn't, she shook me, and pulled my hair, and said I should have nothing to eat till I learned to do it; and I begged and begged her to take me home. I told her mamma would cry all night, and papa, too, and little Henry,—but she hurt me with the stick so (pulling up her sleeve, and showing me the blue spots on her arms); and then I was afraid she would kill me, and so I tried to learn, because I thought if I minded her, perhaps she would let me see mamma;—but she never did; and I slept in the cellar with her nights, and in the day time, before light, she takes me out into the country to play. See, my feet are very sore"—(and she pulled off the heavy, coarse shoes and showed me the blisters on them.)
"Won't you take me to see my mamma, quick?" said Edith, putting her little arms round my neck, as if she were afraid I would feel hurt because she wanted to leave me so soon.
"Just as fast as old Dobbin can carry you, my darling," said I, "if you will only tell me where to find her."
Little Edith began to cry.
"Perhaps she is dead," said she, sobbing.
"Oh, I hope not," said I, (the thought of restoring the little one had been so delightful to me); "cheer up, my darling,—now tell me where to find your father. What does he do for a living, Edith?"