“Say! how many of you Plornish children are there?” asked Jess, to whom Laura had immediately whispered the intelligence that this child was evidently one of Mr. Pizotti’s progeny.
“Seven, ma’am. But some’s older’n me and they’re workin’.”
“Don’t you go to school?” asked Laura.
“I can’t—not right now. We ain’t got good shoes to go ’round—nor petticoats. And then, the baby didn’t come along until a month ago and he has to be ’tended some while mamma washes and cleans up around.”
Laura looked at Jess meaningly and asked:
“Where’s your papa?”
“Oh! he’s home,” said the child, immediately losing her smart manner of speaking.
“Doesn’t he work?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sometimes.”
“What’s his trade?” asked Jess.