It was a queer little figure that showed them into the cool, clean room; short and broad and dumpy. Her shoes were coarse, her dress of faded black, with a white kerchief at the neck, so like an old woman. Her face too, was short and broad; her nose was very short and her eyes very narrow. So you see she was not pretty, but her face was all love and sunshine. She sat down on a low stool and took up the baby in such a dear, motherly way, smoothing its hair and dress and kissing it softly.
“You don’t mean that you live here all alone?” asked Nell.
“Oh, no; there is Hans and baby and me, and there is old Mrs. Price in the other part.”
“But your father and mother?”
“Mother died a year ago. Oh, she was one such good mother, but baby came in her place. Baby looks like mother, and now I have to be her little mother, you see,” and she set the little dumpling out upon her knee, with such pride and tenderness.
“And your father?”
The little Dutch girl dropped her head and answered very low, “Father has been gone a long time. They say he is shut up somewhere. He don’t come home any more.”
“Oh, how very dreadful! I don’t see where you get money to buy things with.”
“Hans is fifteen and works in a shop. He gets some money, and he will get a good deal, by-and-by. The rest I get from the flowers. You see I raise them myself, mostly.”
“But do you get enough for clothes and playthings, and do you always have enough to eat?” persisted Nell.