"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Fan in amazement "And who was my father?"

"Go to bed, Fan, and don't ask questions. I've been very foolish to say
so much. You are too young to understand such things."

"But, mother, I do understand, and I want to know who my father is. Oh,
do--do tell me!"

"What for?"

"Because when I know I'll go to him and tell him how--how _he_
treats us, and ask him to help us to go away into the country where he'll
never find us any more." Her mother laughed. "You're a brave girl if
you'd do that," she said, her face softening. "No, Fan, it can't be
done."

"Oh, please tell me, and I'll do it. Why can't it be done, mother?"

"I can't tell you any more, child. Go to bed, and forget all about it.
You hear bad things enough in the street, and it 'ud only put badness
into your head to hear talk of such things."

Fan's pleading eyes were fixed on her mother's face with a strange
meaning and earnestness in them; then she said:

"Mother, I hear bad things in the street every day, but they don't make
_me_ bad. Oh, do tell me about my father, and why can't I go to
him?"

The unhappy woman looked down, and yet could hardly meet those grey