“I'm so sorry! Have you brothers and sisters?” asked Belle, hoping to find something pleasant to talk about; for she was a kind little soul.
“No, miss; I've got no folks at all.”
“Oh, dear; how sad! Why, who takes care of you?” cried Belle, looking quite distressed.
“No one; I take care of myself. I work for Madame, and she pays me a dollar a week. I stay with Mrs. Brown, and chore round to pay for my keep. My dollar don't get many clothes, so I can't be as neat as I'd like.” And the forlorn look came back to poor Lizzie's face.
Belle said nothing, but sat among the sofa cushions, where she had thrown herself, looking soberly at this other girl, no older than she was, who took care of herself and was all alone in the world. It was a new idea to Belle, who was loved and petted as an only child is apt to be. She often saw beggars and pitied them, but knew very little about their wants and lives; so it was like turning a new page in her happy life to be brought so near to poverty as this chance meeting with the milliner's girl.
“Aren't you afraid and lonely and unhappy?” she said, slowly, trying to understand and put herself in Lizzie's place.
“Yes; but it's no use. I can't help it, and may be things will get better by and by, and I'll have my wish,” answered Lizzie, more hopefully, because Belle's pity warmed her heart and made her troubles seem lighter.
“What is your wish?” asked Belle, hoping mamma wouldn't come just yet, for she was getting interested in the stranger.
“To have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a French girl I know. It's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every one likes her flowers. She shows me how, sometimes, and I can do leaves first-rate; but—”
There Lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her forehead; for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it weighed upon her conscience like a stone.