'Oh, mammie dear,' said Rosalie, 'I'm sure you are not fit to act
to-night.'

'Hush, Rosalie!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that now. Come and sit
beside me, darling, and let me do your hair for you; and before we go,
Rosalie dear, sing your little hymn.'

Rosalie tried to sing it; but somehow her voice trembled, and she could not
sing it very steadily. There was such a sad expression in her mother's
face, that, in the midst of the hymn, little Rosalie burst into tears, and
threw her arms round her mother's neck.

'Don't cry, darling, don't cry!' said her mother; 'what is the matter with
you, Rosalie?'

'Oh, mammie dear, I don't want you to go to-night!'

'Hush, little one!' said her mother; 'don't speak of that. Listen to me,
dear; I want you to make your mother a promise to-night. I want you to
promise me that, if ever you can escape from this life of misery, you will
do so; it's not good for you, darling, all this wretched acting--and oh, it
makes my heart ache every time you have to go to it. You'll leave it if you
can, Rosalie; won't you?'

'Yes, mammie dear, if you'll come with me,' said little Rosalie.

The poor mother shook her head sorrowfully.

'No, dear; I shall never leave the caravan now. I chose this life myself; I