“No, Miss Louisa,” answered Sissy, “father knows very little indeed.  But he said mother was quite a scholar.  She died when I was born.  She was”—­Sissy made the terrible communication, nervously—­“she was a dancer.  We travelled about the country.  Father’s a”—­Sissy whispered the awful word—­“a clown.”

“To make the people laugh?” said Louisa with a nod of intelligence.

“Yes.”  But they wouldn’t laugh sometimes.  Lately they very often wouldn’t, and he used to come home despairing.

I tried to comfort him the best I could, and father said I did.  I used to read to him to cheer up his courage, and he was very fond of that.  Often and often of a night, he used to forget all his troubles in wondering whether the Sultan would let the lady go on with her story, or would have her head cut off before it was finished.”

“And your father was always kind?” asked Louisa.

“Always, always!” returned Sissy, clasping her hands.  “Kinder and kinder than I can tell.  He was angry only one night, and that was not at me, but Merrylegs, his performing dog.  After he beat the dog, he lay down crying on the floor with him in his arms, and the dog licked his face.”

Louisa saw that she was sobbing, and going to her, kissed her, took her hand, and sat down beside her.

“Finish by telling me how your father left you, Sissy.  The blame of telling the story, if there is any blame, is mine, not yours.”

“Dear Miss Louisa,” said Sissy, sobbing yet; “I came home from the school that afternoon, and found poor father just come home too, from the booth.  And he sat rocking himself over the fire, as if he was in pain.  And I said, ‘have you hurt yourself father?’ and he said, ’A little, my darling.’  Then I saw that he was crying.  The more I spoke to him, the more he hid his face; and shook all over, and said nothing but ‘My darling’; and ‘My love!’ Then he said he never gave any satisfaction now, that he was a shame and disgrace, and I should have done better without him all along.  I said all the affectionate things to him that came into my heart, and presently he was quiet, and put his arms around my neck, and kissed me a great many times.  Then he asked me to fetch some of the stuff he used, for the little hurt he had had, and to get it at the best place, which was at the other end of town.  Then after kissing me again, he let me go.  There is no more to tell, Miss Louisa.  I keep the nine oils ready for him, and I know he will come back.  Every letter that I see in Mr. Gradgrind’s hand takes my breath away, and blinds my eyes, for I think it comes from father, or from Mr. Sleary about father.”

After this whenever Sissy dropped a curtsey to Mr. Gradgrind in the presence of his family, and asked if he had had any letter yet about her, Louisa would suspend the occupation of the moment, and look for the reply as earnestly as Sissy did.  And when Mr. Gradgrind answered, “No, Jupe, nothing of the sort,” the trembling of Sissy’s lips would be repeated in Louisa’s face, and her eyes would follow Sissy with compassion to the door.  Thus a warm friendship sprang up between the girls, and a similar one between the mathematical Thomas and the clown’s daughter.