The child shook his head, but whether this meant that he was not a French boy or that he did not understand what was being said to him, Tad could not tell.
"I do wish I knowed if you can understand what I says to you," said Tad; "I'd like to have a talk with you if you do but understand and speak a little bit of English. Now, what's your name?"
The organ boy looked full in Tad's face, then glanced round timidly, and said:
"Hush, not so loud! I'm English, like you; my name's Phil Bates, but I've a French master, and he's forbidden me to speak to any of my own people, and if he catches me at it, don't he beat me just!"
His tone and manner were quiet and restrained, and his language more refined than might have been expected in a boy of his appearance and employment.
"And how do you come to be with a French master?" inquired Tad.
"Oh, my aunt, (her I lived with after father and mother died) she sort of sold me to old Foxy. She was poor and had some children of her own, and was glad to be rid of me, and so Foxy (Renard is his name) gave a half sov for me, and he's got me, worse luck!"
"Was you sold here in France?" asked Tad.
"No, Foxy went over to England for something or other. We was livin' not far from Southampton, and he happened to see me standin' at auntie's cottage door, and her close by. And says he to her in that wonderful lingo of his, 'Mine good womans, is dis so pretty boy your own cheaild?'
"And says auntie, 'No, he ain't, he's only a nevvy.'"