48 THE FLOWERS

and then, sir’—and the poor little girl burst
into tears—“ then grief came; my little sis-
ter died, and my brother died ; it was a fever:
and I was taken away, and was never sent home
again : and my parents are dead too, and I am
here. I was brought to this place, I know not
wherefore, and I have no home in England to
return to.” And the child wiped away a few
tears, and then looked up again, as if awaiting
my further questions.

“And are you happy here, Aimée?” I
asked.

“Yes, father,” she replied; “Madame is
very kind to me.”

“And have you nothing to complain of?”
T asked.

“ Nothing, father,” she replied, “if I might
have my book again.”

“Why do you love that book so much?”
I asked.

“It was my brother’s,” she replied ; and
she wept again. ‘“ May I not have it?”

“But it is not a proper book, Aimée,” I
said ; “and I think you know that it is not
proper, otherwise why do you go into a re-
tired place to read it?”