ll you
please come up and see them?"

Mr. Fledgeby nodded, and, passing his master with a bow, the old man led
the way up flight after flight of stairs, till they arrived at the
house-top. Seated on a carpet, and leaning against a chimney-stack, were
two girls bending over books. Some humble creepers were trained round
the chimney-pots, and evergreens were placed round the roof, and a few
more books, a basket of gaily colored scraps, and bits of tinsel, and
another of common print stuff lay near. One of the girls rose on seeing
that Riah had brought a visitor, but the other remarked, "I'm the person
of the house down-stairs, but I can't get up, whoever you are, because
my back is bad and my legs are queer."

"This is my master," said Riah, speaking to the two girls, "and this,"
he added, turning to Mr. Fledgeby, "is Miss Jenny Wren; she lives in
this house, and is a clever little dressmaker for little people. Her
friend Lizzie," continued Riah, introducing the second girl. "They are
good girls, both, and as busy as they are good; in spare moments they
come up here and take to book learning."

"We are glad to come up here for rest, sir," said Lizzie, with a
grateful look at the old Jew. "No one can tell the rest what this place
is to us."

"Humph!" said Mr. Fledgeby, looking round, "Humph!" He was so much
surprised that apparently he couldn't get beyond that word, and as he
went down again the old chimney-pots in their black cowls seemed to turn
round and look after him as if they were saying "Humph" too.

Lizzie, the elder of these two girls, was strong and handsome, but
little Jenny Wren, whom she so loved and protected, was small and
deformed, though she had a beautiful little face, and the longest and
loveliest golden hair in the world, which fell about her like a cloak of
shining curls, as though to hide the poor little mis-shapen figure.

The Jew Riah, as well as Lizzie, was always kind and gentle to Jenny
Wren, who called him her godfather. She had a father, who shared her
poor little rooms, whom she called her child; for he was a bad, drunken,
worthless old man, and the poor girl had to care for him, and earn
money to keep them both. She suffered a great deal, for the poor little
bent back always ached sadly, and was often weary from constant work but
it was only on rare occasions, when alone or with her friend Lizzie, who
often brought her work and sat in Jenny's room, that the brave child
ever complained