"Where is my father," she said. "Has he left me?"
Jim looked at me hopelessly.
"Why," said I, "does he often leave you?"
"Yes, sir, sometimes," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, which was pitiful in its unconscious revelation of the truth.
"What do you do when he leaves you, dear?" said Jim, tenderly as a woman.
"A boy that lived in the room under our room took care of me the last time. He was very good, but he was away all day," replied the waif.
"Well, I 'm the boy that 'll take care of you, this time," said Jim; "if he leaves you here, I 'll take first-rate care of you."
A queer little wintry smile stole over the pinched face.
"But you 're not a boy. You 're a big gentleman—the kindest gentleman I ever saw," she added in a lower tone, and nestled her head on Jim's neck. "I like you."
Jim looked at me proudly, but with tears in his eyes.
"Did n't I tell you you never saw anything like it?" he said; then, turning to the child, he looked very earnestly in her face, saying,—
"If you think I 'm a kind gentleman, and will take good care of you, will you mind me?"
"Yes, sir, I will," she replied, with the whole strength of her childish little voice thrown on the "will."
