One day my master sold me to an Englishman. Talk
o' slaves! well, this man give my master a lot o' money fur me. I
seed the money, and they told me as I wor apprenticed to him, and
that I could not run away, for ef I did, the law 'ud bring me back.
My new master tuk me to England. He tuk me to Lunnon. It wor bad in
Paris, but in Lunnon it wor worse. I wor farther from my mother. I
wor out o' my own country, and I did not know a word of English.
"Oh! I did find out wot hunger and cold and misery wor in London.
Nobody--nobody give me even a kind word, except one poor lad worse
off nor myself. He belonged to hour company, and he broke his leg. My
master would not send him to 'orspitle, and he died. But afore he
died he taught me a bit of English, and I picked up more by and by.
I grew bigger, and the years went on. Oh! it wor a dreadful life. I
did nothink but long for my mother and pine for the old home, and
once I tried to run away. I wor found the first time, and kep' in a
dark cellar on bread and water for a week arter.
"Then I seed you and Maurice at the night-school. I heerd you say
you wor goin' to France, and when I heerd sech plucky words from sech
a little mite as you, Missie, why I thought as I'd try to run away
again; and the second time, no matter how, I succeeded. I had wot I
called real luck, and I got to France, and there, jest outside
Calais, I met you two, and I thought as I wor made. Oh, Missie
Cecile, but for the purse o' gold--but for the purse o' gold, I might
ha' been made.
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