CHAPTER I.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 51, 21 December 1899, Page 23

CHAPTER I.

' WBli, Ido believe that is another of those ohildren, after I forbade them to enter the garden again !' exclaimed Sister Angela, as she walked down the path leading to the poor-school. Yes, a tiny morsel of humanity was certainly standing amonsr the flowers, but Sister Angela soon discovered that she had been wronging her poor mites, as she was wont to call them, for this child was a stranger to her. Its appearance, as she stood quite still by a bed of scarlet geranium, looking up into the nun's faoe with doubtful eyes, was sufficiently striking, and Sister Angela noted with snrprise the strange beauty of the baby countenance, for the child oould not be more than three years of age. A tangled mass of dusky curls Bhaded a delicate, olive-tinted countenance, to which eyes of unwonted darkness and brilliancy added an air of unusual distinction. A red velvet frock set off the little lady's charms to perfection. There were traces of tears upon her face, whioh wore a touching expression of childish trouble. Sister Angela laid her hand caressingly on the dark locks. ' Well, my little one, what's the matter ?' she asked so kindly that the child could hardly refrain from bunting into tears. 'My mamma ! my mamma !' Bhe Bobbed. ' I want my mamma !' Then she looked into the nuns's eyes with an air of eudden expectancy and asked : ' Did 'oo see mamma ? ' 'No, darling, I did not see her,' but noting the shadow of pain that flitted aoross the baby face, ' we may be able to find her, you and I. Come, now, tell me where you live.' The child seemed puzzled for a minute, then she said, pointing towards the street door :

'In de house der. But we came a long, long way ; mamma and Rosie.' 1 And who is Bosie ?' asked Sister Angela, smiling ' Ise Boeie, of 00-se,' answered the little one in surprise. 1 Oh, I see,' laughed the nun. ' Well, Rosie, how long is it since you lost mamma ?' Boaie puckered up her forehead and thought a moment, then began eagerly : ' 'Oo see, mamma went out last night, and she did Dot turn back to Bosie at all. And she's gone all the long, long day, and Bosie all alone, bo I turn and look for her myself, but I can't get her at all,' and the tears flowed afresh.

' Now, Bosie, you mustn't cry. If I only knew where she lives,' murmured the nun to herself. Bosie looked up again. ' 'Oo see, I tought she would turn here to the lovely f 'owe's. Mamma is so fond of f 'owes. A thought struck Sister Angela. ' Tell me, Bosie,' she said ; ' did you see the flowers from your house ?'

' 'Es,' answered Rosie confidently ; ' de door open,' pointing to the door leading into the street ; ' and Rosie saw the f 'owe's from the window, so I turn over to look for mamma ; but mamma not here.'

'Ah,' thought the nun, 'she is probably staying at Mre. Griffith's.'

Mrs. Griffith kept a private hotel on the opposite side of the street. Sister Angela took the child by the hand and led her to the school door with the intention of sending one of the children with her to Mrs Griffith's to inquire if she and her mother were staying there. She encountered one of the bigger girls on the stairs, and was instructing her to take the little one across the street when she was interrupted with : ' But, Sister Angela, she's the singing lady's little girl— the singing lady that was burned to death last night.' Sister Angela's face showed how shocked she was. ' Are you sure, Maggie V she asked anxiously. But Maggie was quite sure. She lived next the oonvent, and had often seen the child go in snd out from Mrs. Griffith's with her mother. The nuns had of course heard of the catastrophe in the town hall on the previous night— how the temporary stage had suddenly caught fire, and how one singer — a stranger who had but a few days before joined the touring company — had sustained injuries to whioh Bhe succumbed after a couple of hours. But they had heard nothing about her leaving a child. ' Poor little thing,' murmured Sister Angela, gazing down compassionately into the tear-washed face. Wishing to ascertain the truth of the story, she despatched Maggie to ask Mrs. Griffith to step over to her for a moment. That good lady lost no time in doing co. ' Yes, it was quite true,' she said. 1 An' 'twould make your heart ache, Sister Angela,' she continued, ' to heat the poor creature asking all day for her mamma. An' the worst of it is none of the other singers have any notion who the young lady was. It was only a week ago that she joined them, and she never said a single word about herself, only gave her name as Madame Vestris. An' what will be done with the child 1 _ The singers will have nothing to do with her, an' they don't know if the mother had friends. I suppose the poor dearie will have to be taken up by the parish.' At this point Rosie, as if she understood the meaning of these last words, plaintively reiterated : ' Bosie wants mamma. 'Oo get mamma,' looking at the nun so earnestly that the teats welled up into her eyes. ' Rosie must wait for mamma a little while,' said Sister Angela, soothingly. The trouble vanished suddenly from the little girl's faoe.

1 Bosie likes 'oo,' she said decidedly. ' Bosie stay with 'oo till mamma comes,' and she nestled up to her. • Bat, Mrs. Griffith,' said Sister Angela, taking up the conversation where it had been broken off, 'had Madame Yestris no belongings — no letters by which her friends could be traced V ' Oh, there's plenty of letters — the inspector examined them all a while ago, but every one of them is to Isabel from Harry— always from Harry, no other name, an' there isn't a single envelope in the lot ; so they're no good. The inspector has got a gold locket an' chain, an' in the locket the picture of a fine young man, an' at the back the words, ' From Harry to Isabel.' He must be her husband, for the child there is as like him as two peas.' Then Mrs. Griffith went on to tell the nun how the police were to advertise for Madame Vestris' frienda, if the report of her untimely end in the papers elicited no information as to her identity. Meanwhile she was to keep the child. If no friend came forward to claim her, well, of course, the parish would take her up, or perhaps she would be sent to an industrial school. Sister Angela sighed as Mrs. Griffith finished. ' Well, Mrs. Griffith, it is to be hoped the child's friends will turn up. I shall tell Rev. Mother about it, and in case of failure she may be able to do something for her. Good-bye, Rosie,' to the child, ' you must come to see me again.' But Bosie clung to her and refused to be led away.

'Me Btay with 'oo,' she sobbed out. 'Me like '00, and 'oo find mamma for Bosie,' and. no amount of coaxing would induce her to go with Mrs. Griffith ' Well,' said the nun at length, ' perhaps it would be better to leave her with me awhile. I will take her to Bey Mother and tell her the story. You oan oome back for her in the evening.' So Mrs. Griffith departed and Sister Angela took Bosie up to the convent.