“O Harriet, I wish this was papa’s house! I don’t know these people.”

“Be a good child, missy.”

“I am good, but I ache here,” putting her hand to her heart, and moaning while she reiterated “Papa! papa!”

I roused myself, and started up to check this scene while it was yet within bounds.

“Say good-morning to the young lady,” dictated Harriet.

She said “good-morning,” and then followed her nurse from the room. Harriet temporarily left that same day, to go to her own friends, who lived in the neighbourhood.

On descending, I found Paulina (the child called herself Polly, but her full name was Paulina Mary) seated at the breakfast-table by Mrs. Bretton’s side. A mug of milk stood before her, a morsel of bread filled her hand, which lay passive on the table-cloth. She was not eating.

“How we shall conciliate this little creature,” said Mrs. Bretton to me, “I don’t know. She tastes nothing, and, by her looks, she has not slept.”

I expressed my confidence in the effects of time and kindness.

“If she were to take a fancy to anybody in the house, she would soon settle, but not till then,” replied Mrs. Bretton.