e called him. His bright eyes used to twinkle and his white
teeth shine whenever he could find a chance of running an errand, or
doing any little job for the Captain; and I think it was, perhaps,
because he took me for the Captain's little pet that he grew so fond of
me.

He would follow me all about the garden, and watch me as I talked away
to Jane, and be ready to find my ball or fetch my hoop the minute I
wanted them.

Now, after we had been a little while at the Park, I found that Jane had
got very fond of flowers, and was always anxious to go to the
glass-houses directly we came out into the garden.

"Why, Miss Sissy," she would say, "there never was anything like the
ferns, and the orange-trees, and the cactuses in them houses; and Mr.
Owen so civil-like in showing them to us, too."

So off we went to the hot-houses, and there Mr. Owen and Jane talked
and talked till I got tired of the hot air, and went to play outside;
and there just outside was Gus, always waiting to pick me the prettiest
flowers, and find me the first sweet violets. But I was shy, and his
words were so foreign that they frightened me; nor did I like at all
being called "Petite mademoiselle," which was not my name, and couldn't
mean anything that I could think of. At last I grew braver, and one day
I ventured to ask--

"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 kil