macaroon, and then finishing it with a relish.

The Italian laughed.

"Canary-birds do not feed with crows," said he. "When we are rich,
picciola, you shall never eat worse than this."

"Shall we be rich soon, 'Varny?" asked the child eagerly.

"Upon the moment almost, if you will dance and laugh, and look so
pretty as you can, always."

"But we needn't stop to be very rich before we go and carry some of
the nice things to mammy," rejoined Cherry anxiously.

"No, no, indeed! We will but make a little turn in the country, and
come back princes. But mind you this, picciola: I am to be your
father now, or all the same; and I shall tell every one that you are
my own little girl: so you must never say, 'Not so.'"

"But mammy said my father was dead, and Teddy said so too. He was
Michael darlint."

"I doubt not that Signor Michaelli died, and has gone to glory; but
I strangely doubt if he were thy father, picciola," said the Italian
with a grave smile. "However that may be, forget that you have ever
had other father than me, and call me so always: 'Mio padre,' you
must say, and no more 'Varny. Also, too, you must speak in Italian,
as I shall to you; and never, as you do now, in English."