I shall never see my mother
again, and it seems as if all the lambs
and primroses in the world was dead.
Oh, they're dead--they're dead--
and I wish I was, too!"
Glad's eyes winked rapidly and she
gave a hoarse little cough to clear
her throat. Her arms still clasping
her knees, she hitched herself closer
to the girl and gave her a nudge
with her elbow.
"Buck up, Polly," she said, "we
ain't none of us finished yet. Look
at us now--sittin' by our own fire
with bread and puddin' inside us--
an' think wot we was this mornin'.
Who knows wot we 'll 'ave this time
to-morrer."
Then she stopped and looked with
a wide grin at Antony Dart.
"Ow did I come 'ere?" she said.
"Yes," he answered, "how did
you come here?"
"I dunno," she said; "I was 'ere
first thing I remember. I lived with
a old woman in another 'ouse in the
court. One mornin' when I woke
up she was dead. Sometimes I've
begged an' sold matches. Sometimes
I've took care of women's children
or 'elped 'em when they 'ad to lie up.
I've seen a lot--but I like to see a
lot. 'Ope I'll see a lot more afore
I'm done. I'm used to bein' 'ungry
an' cold, an' all that, but--but I
allers like to see what's comin' to-
morrer. There's allers somethin'
else to-morrer. That's all about
ME," and she chuckled again.
Dart picked up some fresh sticks
and threw them on the fire. There
was some fine crackling and a new
flame leaped up.
"If you could do what you liked,"
he said, "what would you like to
do?"
Her chuckle became an outright
laugh.
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