persecution of the Huguenots by the French king had brought over to this
country. With this old man lived a little lad, who went by the name of
Henry Thomas. He remembered to have lived in another place a short time
before, near to London too, amongst looms and spinning-wheels, and a
great deal of psalm-singing and church-going, and a whole colony of
Frenchmen.

There he had a dear, dear friend, who died, and whom he called Aunt. She
used to visit him in his dreams sometimes; and her face, though it was
homely, was a thousand times dearer to him than that of Mrs. Pastoureau,
Bon Papa Pastoureau's new wife, who came to live with him after aunt
went away. And there, at Spittlefields, as it used to be called, lived
Uncle George, who was a weaver too, but used to tell Harry that he was
a little gentleman, and that his father was a captain, and his mother an
angel.

When he said so, Bon Papa used to look up from the loom, where he was
embroidering beautiful silk flowers, and say, "Angel! she belongs to the
Babylonish scarlet woman." Bon Papa was always talking of the scarlet
woman. He had a little room where he always used to preach and
sing hymns out of his great old nose. Little Harry did not like the
preaching; he liked better the fine stories which aunt used to tell him.
Bon Papa's wife never told him pretty stories; she quarrelled with Uncle
George, and he went away.

After this, Harry's Bon Papa and his wife and two children of her own
that she brought with her, came to live at Ealing. The new wife gave her
children the best of everything, and Harry many a whipping, he knew not
why. Besides blows, he got ill names from her, which need not be set
down here, for the sake of old Mr. Pastoureau, who was still kind