--whereas a tailor, sir" (spoken with great contempt), "only sees the
upper leather of the world's sole in a newspaper."

Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden pressure of the crowd
towards the theatre. The two young friends looked up, and saw that the
new object of attraction was a little girl, who seemed scarcely ten years
old, though in truth she was about two years older. She had just emerged
from behind the curtain, made her obeisance to the crowd, and was now
walking in front of the stage with the prettiest possible air of
infantine solemnity. "Poor little thing!" said Lionel. "Poor little
thing!" said the Cobbler. And had you been there, my reader, ten to one
but you would have said the same. And yet she was attired in white
satin, with spangled flounces and a tinsel jacket; and she wore a wreath
of flowers (to be sure, the flowers were not real) on her long fair
curls, with gaudy bracelets (to be sure, the stones were mock) on her
slender arms. Still there was something in her that all this finery
could not vulgarize; and since it could not vulgarize, you pitied her for
it. She had one of those charming faces that look straight into the
hearts of us all, young and old. And though she seemed quite self-
possessed, there was no effrontery in her air, but the ease of a little
lady, with a simple child's unconsciousness that there was anything in
her situation to induce you to sigh, "Poor thing!"

"You should see her act, young gents," said the Cobbler: "she plays
uncommon. But if you had seen him as taught her,--seen him a year ago."

"Who's he?"

"Waife, sir; mayhap you have heard speak of Waife?"