"I had rather not tell, if you please," answered Rose.
The civil manner in which the refusal was couched irritated Dolly.
"You are as like your mother as two peas," said she, angrily; "you look just like her, and speak just like her."
"Do you think so?" asked the child, her whole face brightening.
"I don't know why you should look so pleased about it. Maria was a thriftless creature. No learning but book learning."
"Please don't speak so of my mamma," and the tears stood in Rose's eyes.
"I shall speak just as I please of her," said Dolly; "she was my sister before she was your mother, by a long spell, and I don't know why I am bound to love her for that reason, when there was nothing to love in her."
"But there was," said Rose. "She was sweet, and gentle, and loving, and oh, Aunt Dolly, she was every thing to me," and the hot tears trickled through Rose's slender fingers.
"Fiddle-faddle! Now ain't you ashamed, you great baby, to be bawling here in the street, as if I was some terrible dragon making off with you? That's all the thanks I get for taking you out of the church-yard and putting you in that nice Orphan Asylum."
"If you had only left me in the church-yard," sobbed Rose.