me, and begged me not to leave him all forlorn and lonesome, and besides, I didn't want to leave the studio because I loved it."
The child paused a moment and her eyes looked as full of mystery and as unfathomable as the corners of the beloved studio of which she was dreaming.
"But this second father of mine—I called him Papa—got over being so sad after a while, and he brought a very pretty lady home one day and told me I had a new mamma. She was a Southerner, from Georgia. I called her Mamma. She was kind sometimes, and sometimes she was cross. She used to get very angry with Papa because he was so lazy. Mamma was a dancer and made a great deal of money. She wanted Papa to learn to dance with her, and he could do it beautifully, but he would get so tired and refuse to practice. He wouldn't even play the piano for her, and she got a Victrola, and he wouldn't even wind it up. I learned to do that, though, and I used to make her coffee and take it to her in the morning and she would pet me and praise me. Papa got lazier and lazier and one morning he just refused to get out of bed. You should have heard Mamma quarrel with him then! 'Loafer! Rapscallion! Sponger.' There were worse things, too, but Mrs. O'Shea
