“What does it say?” asked the child one day.

“Of words,” said Marie, “I hear not any, Petie.  But it wants always somesing, do you hear?  It is hongry always, and makes moans for the sorry thinks it has in its heart.”

“I am hungry in my stomach, not in my heart,” objected Petie.

But Marie nodded her head sagely.  “Yes,” she said.  “It is that you know not the deeference, Petie, bit-ween those.  To be hongry at the stomach, that is made better when you eat cakes, do you see, or potatoes.  But when the heart is hongry, then—­ah, yes, that is ozer thing.”  And she nodded again, and glanced up at the attic window, and sighed.

It was a long time before she spoke of her past life; but when she found that Petie had no sharp-eyed mother at home, only a deaf great-aunt who asked no questions, she began to give him little glimpses of the circus world, which filled him with awe and rapture.  It was hardly a real circus, only a little strolling troupe, with some performing dogs, and a few trained horses and ponies, and two tight-rope dancers; then there were two other musicians, and Marie herself, besides Le Boss and his family, and Old Billy, who took care of the horses and did the dirty work.  It was about the dogs that Petie liked best to hear; of the wonderful feats of Monsieur George, the great brindled greyhound, and the astonishing sagacity of Coquelicot, the poodle.

“Monsieur George, he could jump over anything, yes!  He was always jump, jump, all day long, to practise himself.  Over our heads all, that was nothing, yet he did it always when we come in the tent, pour saluer, to say the how you do.  But one day come in a man to see Le Boss, very tall, oh, like mountains, and on him a tall hat.  And Monsieur George, he not stopped to measure with his eye, for fear he be too late with the politesse, and he jump, and carry away the man’s hat, and knock him down and come plomp, down on him.  Yes, very funny!  The man got a bottle in his hat, and that break, and run all over him, and he say, oh, he say all things what you think of.  But Monsieur George was so ’shamed, he go away and hide, and not for a week we see him again.  Le Boss think that man poison him, and he goes to beat him; but that same day Monsieur George come back, and stop outside the tent and call us all to come out.  And when we come, he run back, and say, ‘Look here, what I do!’ and he jump, and go clean over the tent, and not touch him wiz his foot.  Yes, I saw it:  very fine dog, Monsieur George!  But Coquelicot, he have more thinking than Monsieur George.  He very claiver, Coquelicot!  Some of zem think him a witch, but I think not that.  He have minds, that was all.  But his legs so short, and that make him hate Monsieur George.”

“My legs are short,” objected Petie, stretching out a pair of plump calves, “but that doesn’t make me hate people.”