"For I've a story to tell yer, little Missie," said Joe.
Cecile obeyed him at once. A great terror was over her, but this
terror was partly assuaged by his first words.
"I ha' got some'ut to tell yer, Missie Cecile," said Joe Barnes,
"some'ut 'bout my old life, the kind o' way I used to live in Paris
and Lunnon."
At the words Cecile raised her little flower face with a sigh of
relief; she was not going to hear of any fresh trouble; it was only
an old, old woe, and Joe needed comfort.
"Dear Joe," said the little girl, "yes, tell me about Paris and
London."
Joe felt himself shrinking away from the little caressing movement
Cecile made. He looked at her for an instant out of two great hollow
eyes, then began in a dull kind of voice.
"It don't make much real differ," he said, "only I thought as I'd
like fur yer to know as it wor a _werry_ bitter temptation.
"I remember the last night as I slept along o' my mother, Missie
Cecile, how she petted me, and fondled of me.
"Then I wor stolen away, and my master brought me to Paris. We lived
in a werry low part o' Paris, high up in a garret. I wor taught to
play the fiddle--I wor taught by blows; and when they did not do, I
wor made real, desperate hungry. I used to be given jest one meal a
day, and when the others as did better nor me wor eating, I had to
stand by and wait on 'em. Then, when I knew enough, I wor sent into
the streets to play, and when I did not bring in enough money, I wor
beat worse nor ever.
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