Lizzie? And are you very fond of her?"

Those innocent allusions to the neglect which was the one sad
experience of Syd's young life touched the servant's heart. A
bygone time was present to her memory, when she too had been left
without a playfellow to keep her company or a fire to warm her,
and she had not endured it patiently.

"Oh, my dear," she said, "your poor little arms are red with
cold. Come to me and let me rub them."

But Syd's bright imagination was a better protection against the
cold than all the rubbing that the hands of a merciful woman
could offer. "You are very kind, Lizzie," she answered. "I don't
feel the cold when I am playing with my children. I am very
careful to give them plenty of exercise, we are going to walk in
the Park."

She gave a hand to each of the dolls, and walked slowly round
and round the miserable room, pointing out visionary persons of
distinction and objects of interest. "Here's the queen, my dears,
in her gilt coach, drawn by six horses. Do you see her scepter
poking out of the carriage window? She governs the nation with
that. Bow to the queen. And now look at the beautiful bright
water. There's the island where the ducks live. Ducks are happy
creatures. They have their own way in everything, and they're
good to eat when they're dead. At least they used to be good,
when we had nice dinners in papa's time. I try to amuse the poor
little things, Lizzie. Their papa is dead. I'm obliged to be papa
and mamma to them, both in one. Do you feel the cold, my dears?"