The little girl took it, in a womanly sort of manner
belonging to the apron and the bonnet, and stood looking at us over the
burden that clung to her most affectionately.
"Is it possible," whispered my guardian, as he put a chair for the
little creature, and got her to sit down with her load, the boy holding
to her apron, "that this child works for the rest?
"Charley, Charley!" he questioned. "How old are you?"
"Over thirteen, sir," replied the child.
"O, what a great age!" said my guardian. "And do you live here alone
with these babies, Charley?"
"Yes, sir," returned the child, looking up into his face with perfect
confidence, "since father died."
"And how do you live, Charley," said my guardian, "how do you live?"
"Since father died, sir, I've gone out to work. I'm out washing to-day."
"God help you, Charley!" said my guardian. "You're not tall enough to
reach the tub!"
"In pattens I am, sir," she said quickly. "I've got a high pair as
belonged to mother. Mother died just after Emma was born," said the
child, glancing at the face upon her bosom. "Then father said I was to
be as good a mother to her as I could. And so I tried. And so I worked
at home, and did cleaning, and nursing, and washing, for a long time
before I began to go out. And that's how I know how, don't you
see, sir?"
"And do you often go out?"
"As often as I can, sir," said Charley, opening her eyes and smiling,
"because of earning sixpences and shillings!"
"And do you always lock the babies up when you go out?"
"To keep 'em safe, sir, don't you see?" said Charley.
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