CHAPTER V
MOLLY
“What is the matter, itty boy? Why are you kying so?”
And while the voice spoke soft and sweet as the coo of a dove, two little hands very gently, but firmly, clasped Charles’s hands, which were covering his face, and tried to draw them away.
He looked up, and, rubbing the blinding tears from his eyes, he beheld a little girl about six years old. She was a very chubby-cheeked tot of a thing, with short golden curls running over her head, and half covering her eyes, that were looking at him with immense curiosity.
“Are oo a blackamoor?” she asked, shrinking back a step as she saw his face.
“No,” said Charles, bursting into a merry laugh, “but I expect I have rather a dirty face.”
She nodded. “Blacker than oor hands even. But what was you kying for?”
“Well,” said Charles, “for one thing I—well, I’m dreadfully hungry. I believe I could eat a horse.”