"It's about the little girl that was lost, sir, your little cousin
Antoinette."

"'Toinette Legrange, cried Mr. Burroughs, his face suddenly growing
earnest as he turned it upon the boy, and asked,--

"What is it? Have you heard of her?"

"Yes, sir. I found her in the street the night she was lost. She was
dressed in poor clothes, and her hair was cut off. I didn't know who
she was; and I took her home to my mother, and asked her to keep her
for my little sister, because I never got one, and always wanted
her. Then she was sick; and one day you told me she was lost, and
showed me the picture and the piece in the paper; and I knew it was
her. Then I thought she was going to die, and I waited to know; and,
when she got better, I waited a while longer; and at last she was
well, and I couldn't bear to part with her"--

"But she is safe now?" interrupted Mr. Burroughs, his look of stern
reproach mingling with a sudden hope.

"No, sir: she's lost!"

"What!"

Teddy's white lips tried again and again before they could form the
words,--

"She's lost again, sir! She went out walking with Jovarny, that's
an organ-grinder, last Monday morning; and he has taken her off."