"That is true," replied Patsy, tucking the little one's arm underneath her own, with a sympathetic gesture. "I know just how you feel, Tato. You must come to America some day, and visit me. I will make you very welcome, dear, and you shall be my friend."
The child looked into her face earnestly.
"You do not hate me, signorina, because—because—"
"Because why?"
"Because my errand to you has been so lawless and—and—unfriendly?"
"Ah, Tato, you do not choose this life, do you?"
"No, signorina."
"It is forced on you by circumstances, is it not?"
"Truly, signorina."
"I know. You would not long so wistfully to change your condition if you enjoyed being a little brigand. But nothing that has passed must interfere with our friendship, dear. If I were in your place, you see, I would do just as you have done. It is not a very honest life, Tato, nor one to be proud of; but I'm not going to blame you one bit."