For the present, too, her mind was at rest about Dick—he was not only not thieving, but he was doing quite a profitable business in another way. Every morning he carried away his broom, and every evening, the weather being rather wet, he brought her in a nice little handful of coppers, as the result of his day’s brooming; quite enough money to buy honest red herrings and other dainties for supper and even breakfast.
Flo began to consider a broom and crossing quite a good trade, and rather contemplated taking it up herself. But in this desire both Jenks and Dick quite vehemently opposed her, and for the present she was happy over her never-ending cobbling.
Scamp’s company was so pleasant, and so soothed the tedium of her life, that now and then little snatches of mother’s old songs would rise to her lips.
She was walking down Duncan Street one day singing one of these in quite a sweet, clear voice, when a little pale girl on crutches, who lived in a cellar some six doors off, stopped her with the question—
“Does yer know the Glory Song?”
“No,” said Flo; “wot is it?”
“I doesn’t know it hall,” said the little pale girl, “on’y a bit. Yere it is:
”‘I’m glad I hever saw the Day,
Sing glory, glory, glory,
When first I larned to read and pray,
Sing glory, glory, glory.’”
“Go on,” said Flo, “that’s pretty—that is.”
“Oh! I doesn’t know any more,” said the little girl. “I larned that bit wen I wor in ’Orspital, time my leg was tuk orf. Sister Evelina taught it to me. There wor a lot more, and it wor werry pretty, but I on’y ’members that bit.”