'Call me by my own name,' said the girl, with another sob. 'I'm not
Britannia now, I'm Jessie; "Little Jess," my mother always calls me.'
And at the mention of her mother she cried again as if her heart would break.
'Jessie,' said Rosalie, laying her hand on her arm, 'won't you tell me about it?'
The girl stopped crying, and as soon as she was calmer, she told Rosalie her story.
'I've got such a good mother; it's that which made me cry,' she said.
'Your mother isn't in the circus, then, is she?' said Rosalie.
'Oh no,' said the girl; and she almost smiled through her tears—such a sad, sorrowful attempt at a smile it was; 'you don't know my mother or you wouldn't ask that! No; she lives in a village a long way from here. I'm going to her; at least I think I am; I don't know if I dare.'
'Why not?' said Rosalie. 'Are you frightened of your mother?'
'No, I'm not frightened of her,' said the girl; 'but I've been so bad to her, I'm almost ashamed to go back. She doesn't know where I am now. I expect she has had no sleep since I ran away.'
'When did you run away?' asked the child.