to be an annoyance to my sister Lucy--my dear little sister Lucy.

'As for Gerald, he has taken no notice of us at all. Your father has
written to him from time to time, but his letters have always been returned
to him.

'Well, so we went on, getting poorer and poorer. Once your father took a
situation as a post-master in a small country village, and there was a lady
there who was very kind to me. She used to come and see my little Arthur;
he was very delicate, and at last he took a dreadful cold, and it settled
on his chest, and my poor little lamb died. And, Rosalie darling, when I
buried him under a little willow-tree in that country churchyard, I felt as
if I had nothing left to live for.

'We did not stay in that village long; we were neither of us used to
keeping accounts, and we got them in a complete muddle. So I had to leave
behind my little grave, and the only home we ever had.

'Then your father fell in with a strolling actor, who was in the habit of
frequenting fairs, and between them, by selling their furniture, and almost
everything they possessed, they bought some scenery and a caravan, and
started a travelling theatre. And when the man died, Rosalie, he left his
share of it to your father.

'So the last twelve years, my darling, I've been moving about from place to
place, just as we are doing now. And in this caravan, my little girl, you
were born. I was very ill a long time after that, and could not take my
place in the theatre, and, for many reasons, that was the most miserable
part of my miserable life.