"It's Miss Florence, come home from her aunt's, no doubt," thought Richards, who had never seen the child before. "Hope I see you well, miss."
"Is that my brother?" asked the child, pointing to the baby.
"Yes, my pretty," answered Richards, "come and kiss him."
But the child, instead of advancing, looked her earnestly in the face, and said:
"What have you done with my mamma?"
"Lord bless the little creetur!" cried Richards. "What a sad question! I done? Nothing, miss."
"What have they done with my mamma?" cried the child.
"I never saw such a melting thing in all my life!" said Richards. "Come nearer here; come, my dear miss! Don't be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you," said the child, drawing nearer, "but I want to know what they have done with my mamma."
"My darling," said Richards, "come and sit down by me, and I'll tell you a story."