"What is it? Have you heard of her?"
"Yes, sir. I found her in the street the night she was lost. She was dressed in poor clothes, and her hair was cut off. I didn't know who she was; and I took her home to my mother, and asked her to keep her for my little sister, because I never got one, and always wanted her. Then she was sick; and one day you told me she was lost, and showed me the picture and the piece in the paper; and I knew it was her. Then I thought she was going to die, and I waited to know; and, when she got better, I waited a while longer; and at last she was well, and I couldn't bear to part with her"—
"But she is safe now?" interrupted Mr. Burroughs, his look of stern reproach mingling with a sudden hope.
"No, sir: she's lost!"
"What!"
Teddy's white lips tried again and again before they could form the words,—
"She's lost again, sir! She went out walking with Jovarny, that's an organ-grinder, last Monday morning; and he has taken her off."
"You miserable fellow! You had better have killed as well as stolen her!" exclaimed Mr. Burroughs.
Teddy clung to the table, and reeled as if a physical blow had fallen upon him. It was the first time in the four years they had spent together that his master had spoken to him in anger, and now,—
"Five days ago! And what have you done in that time towards looking for her?" asked Mr. Burroughs sternly.