Part 30 (1/2)
”Ah, no, little girl! there is nothing the matter with your hair.
Only--” The lady was thinking how soft, and fine, and curly was the yellow hair of which she had been dreaming.
”What do you want?” asked the lady.
”I'm very hungry,” said Puppet, ”because of the walk, and--and--and all,” concluded Puppet, remembering that the lady could not understand.
”Come in, then.”
Puppet went in. Up in one corner of the sitting-room were a little tip-cart and a doll. Puppet ate her bread and meat, looking hard at the tip-cart.
”Where is it, mum?”
”Where is what, child?”
”The child, mum.” Puppet pointed to the tip-cart.
”Gone, my dear,” said the lady, softly.
”Dead?” Puppet remembered that that was what they said about her uncle when he went away. It was the only going away that she had ever known.
”Yes, I suppose so,” said the lady, with a little s.h.i.+ver.
”That's bad, mum.”
”No, not bad,” said the lady, sorrowfully. ”It is just right that it should be so.”
”But it must be lonesome like, unless there were kicks and things.”
Puppet was still thinking of her uncle.
The lady wondered what the child could mean, and not knowing, said,--
”What's your name? How could I have forgotten to ask your name?”
”Puppet.”
”That's a funny name. And where do you live?”
”Two or three miles away from here.”
”Have you walked here to-day?”
”Yes, mum.”
”What should make the child walk so far, I wonder?”
”Money, mum, and things to eat.”
”Have you eaten enough?”