"Where is your mother, little one?"
Then she answered, promptly, "Dead," but the language was German, not French.
"Ho-ho! You are a little Dutchman," Mr. St. Claire said, with some surprise in his voice.
Then, as he noted the purity of her complexion, her fair hair and blue eyes, he said to himself:
"Her father was a German, and probably they lived in Germany, but the mother was certainly French."
He could speak German a little, and turning again to the child, he managed to say:
"What is your name?"
"Der-ree," was the reply, and Harold exclaimed:
"That's it; she means Jerry; that's short for the name on her clothes, which you said was Jerreen. I have christened her Jerry, and she is my little girl, ain't you, Jerry?"
"Yah—oui—'ess," was the answer, and there was a gleam of triumph in the blue eyes which flashed up to Harold for approbation.