A little voice, very thin, but just as eager, responded with,—
“Yes, Dick dear.”
“Is you up to a bit o’ ’joyment this ’ere blessed minit, Flo?”
“Oh, Dick! is it the shops, and the picters, and the fine ladies? Is it, Dick?”
“Yes; queens, and ladies, and lords goin’ about in golden carriages, and shops full up to bustin’, and we a standin’ and a lookin’ on. Better’n wittles, eh?”
“Oh yes, Dick!”
She threw aside the old boot, held out her dirty little hand to Dick, and together the children scampered up the broken, rickety ladder into the air and light of day.
“Now, Flo, you ’as got to put your best foot forrard, ’cos we ’as a goodish bit o’ a way to tramp it. Then I’ll plant you front o’ me, Flo; and when we gets there, you never mind the perleece, but look yer fill. Oh, my heyes! them is hosses!”
Flo, seen by daylight, had brown eyes, very large and soft; curling, golden brown hair, and a sweet gentle little face. Had she been a lady she would have been pronounced a lovely child, and in all probability would have been a lovely child, but her cellar-life had produced sharp shoulders, a complexion of greyish-white, and a certain look of premature age and wisdom, which all children so brought up possess. She raised her hand now to shade her face, as though the daylight pained her, looked round eagerly, then tightened her clasp of Dick.
“Is there blue, and yaller, and red, and majinta dresses in them ’ere winders, Dick? and is there lace on ’em? and is there welwet and silk dresses, Dick?” Dick winked, and looked mysterious.