She was eight years old, a very little girl in any other rank of life, but in this Saint Giles’s cellar she was a woman. She had been a woman for a whole year now; ever since her mother died, and she had worked from morning to night for her scanty living, she had put childish things away, and taken on herself the anxieties, the hopes, and fears, of womanhood. Dick was ten, but in reality, partly on account of her sex, partly on account of the nature within her, Flo was much older than her little brother.
It was she who worked all day over those old shoes and boots, translating them, for what she called truly “starvegut” pay, into new ones. It was Dick’s trade, but Flo really did the work, for he was always out, looking, as he said, for better employment.
But the better employment did not come to Dick, perhaps because Dick did not know how to come to it, and Flo’s little fingers toiled bravely over this hard work, and the wolf was barely kept from the door.
Her mother had taught her the trade, and she was really a skilful little work-woman.
Comforted now by her good meal, by her run in the open air, by the wonderful sights, and by the crowning sight of all she had seen; comforted also not a little by Scamp’s company, she resumed her employment.
The dog, satisfied and well pleased, rolled himself up as close as possible to her ragged gown, and went to sleep; and Flo, feeling sure that she would be now undisturbed, arranged quite a nice amusement for herself.
She would begin supposing now in earnest.
She had seen the queen, she had seen fine ladies, she knew at last what velvet and silk, what lace and feathers, what horses and carriages were like. She could suppose to any amount. She had no longer need to draw wholly on her own resources, she knew what the real things were, at last.
She had a very vivid imagination, and she dropped her work, and her big brown eyes looked far away from the real and ugly things about her, to beautiful things elsewhere. But somehow, and this was strange, unpleasant thoughts would intrude, a present anxiety would shut away imaginary joys, and with a sigh the little girl resumed her work and her cares.
Her trouble was this. What railed Dick? His embarrassment, his fear of the police, his forced mirth, had none of them escaped Flo’s observant eyes.