CHAPTER XV
LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE
True to her promise, Betsey Ann appeared in the attic the next morning at ten minutes to five. Poor girl, she had only had four hours' sleep, and she rubbed her eyes vigorously to make herself wide awake, before she attempted to wake Rosalie. Then she put down her candle on the box and looked at the sleeping child. She was lying with one arm under her cheek, and the other round the kitten. It seemed a shame to wake her; but the precious ten minutes were going fast, and it was Betsey Ann's only chance of hearing more of what had so roused her curiosity the night before; it was her only opportunity of hearing of some one who loved her.
And to be loved was quite a new idea to the workhouse child. She had been fed, and clothed, and provided for, to a certain extent; but none in the whole world had ever done anything for Betsey Ann because they loved her; that was an experience which had never been hers. And yet there had been a strange fascination to her in those words Rosalie had spoken the night before: 'He loves you so much'—she must hear some more about it. So she gave Rosalie's hand, the hand which was holding the kitten, a very gentle tap.
'I say,' she said—'I say, the ten minutes are going!'
The sleepy child turned over, and said dreamily, 'I'll come in a minute, father; have you begun?'
'No; it's me,' said the girl; 'it's me; it's Betsey Ann. Don't you know you said you would read to me? Bless me! I wish I hadn't waked you, you look so tired!'
'Oh yes, I remember,' said Rosalie, jumping up. I'm quite awake now. How many minutes are there?'
'Oh, seven or eight at most,' said Betsey Ann, with a nod.
'Then we mustn't lose a minute,' said the child, pulling her Testament from under her pillow.