“Oh, I don’t care. Not so very cross.”
Weezy was eying keenly a bag of black alligator skin dangling from her companion’s belt. It was rather larger than an ordinary reticule, and furnished with a steel clasp and chain. The young lady played absently with the chain while talking.
“‘Oh! I’m ever so sorry,’ said Weezy”
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“She pets her pretty bag like a kitten. I wonder what’s in it?” thought Weezy, wishing it would not be rude to inquire. She suspected that it contained something very, very precious.
“Didn’t anybody come with you, lady?” she questioned shyly, being exceedingly desirous to know. “Are you all sole alone?”
“Yes, dear; all sole alone.” The speaker’s voice trembled. “My father had intended to cross the ocean with me; but he was taken suddenly ill last month, and—he has died.”
“Oh, I’m ever so sorry,” replied Weezy, with tears in her eyes, thinking how she should feel if it were her own papa. “Haven’t you any mamma?”
The young lady shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.