"When yer was up there," he observed unctiously as he devoured his portion—and he nodded his round little head toward that foggy and smoky expanse about them, popularly believed by the population about the Tenement to be the abode of angels—"when yer was up there, yer had these kinder things every day, didn't yer?"
If her small ladyship's word could be taken for it, in that other life still remembered by her, she had everything, even to hoky-poky ad libitum, to her heart's content, though her testimony framed itself into somewhat more halting and uncertain English.
"What did yer do up there, anyhow?" queried Joey curiously.
"Danced," the Angel declared, daintily devoting herself to her portion of the peach, "her danced and—her danced."
This earthly vocation seemed to fail to appeal to Joey's imagination. "Nothin' else?" he demanded anxiously. "Didn't yer never do nothin' else?"
But the Angel had fallen to poking the green contents of the gutter with a stick, and seemed to find the present more fascinating to contemplate than the past.
"Didn't yer never go nowhere?" persisted Joey.
"Her went to school," the Angel admitted, or so it sounded to Joey.
"What 'ud yer do at school?" he inquired.