“Who is your papa?”

“Me hab no papa, no mamma!” he said, looking very full at me.

“Where do you live then?” I asked.  “You’re not a bit like Bobbie!”

“Me live wid de Capitaine; me never will leaf de Capitaine—­never, never, never!” he answered eagerly.

This made me feel very queer, and I think I looked half-frightened, for his look changed quickly, and he said, smiling his own sunny smile—­

“Me fetch petite mademoiselle somet’ing nice; me fetch de puss dat de Capitaine just bring home!”

A pussy!  That sounded pleasant, and I waited eagerly for his return.  I waited a long time, as it seemed, and I had grown tired, and was looking for daisies on the grass, when I heard his step and the tap of his favourite holly-stick on the gravel.  What a funny boy he was to call that “something nice”!

There he stood, his eyes and mouth all one smile, and held out at arm’s length by the ears a dead rabbit.  My look and exclamation of horror made him grave at once.

[Illustration:  Poor dead pussy!]

“Oh, the poor little rabbit!” I cried.  “Has Uncle Hugh killed him quite dead?”

“Yes, yes, he quite dead!  De Capitaine’s gun kill him quite, de small dog pick him up.  Petite mademoiselle not frighten, he quite dead!”

Ah, that was just the reason of my fright!  Away I ran to Jane, and hid my face in her gown; and a very vigorous scolding did she give the French boy when she found what he had done.

Poor fellow! he was very much disconcerted, and did not know what to say.  Two hours after he came back, and finding me alone just going for a drive, he said softly—­

“Little puss all alive now, run away in de voods.  Petite mademoiselle, come see?”

What did he mean?  The rabbit could not be “quite dead” at one time, and “all alive” afterwards.  But grandmamma was coming downstairs, and I had no time to answer him.  By and by, when I was lying back on the soft cushions stroking grandmamma’s pretty white fur, I told her all my puzzle.

“Ah, my pet,” she said, “poor Gus had a very cruel French father, and doesn’t know any better.  He ran away from home when your uncle’s ship was touching at Marseilles, and hid himself in the hold.  They found him when they got out to sea—­a little stowaway the sailors called him—­and your uncle liked his dark, pitiful eyes, and was very kind to him; but he has not learnt much yet that’s good.  Don’t have too much to say to him, my darling!”

Well, it wasn’t very likely I should, for he and I found it not very easy to understand each other; yet he liked to do anything he could for me, and was always watching to see what I wanted.