a pupil, and the dancing-master had such abundant time to give her,
that wonderful progress was made. Indeed, the dancing-master was so
proud of it, and so wishful to show it before he left, to a few select
friends among the collegians (the debtors in the prison were called
"collegians"), that at six o'clock on a certain fine morning, an
exhibition was held in the yard--the college-rooms being of too small
size for the purpose--in which so much ground was covered, and the steps
were so well executed, that the dancing-master, having to play his
fiddle besides, was thoroughly tired out.

The success of this beginning, which led to the dancing-master's
continuing his teaching after his release, led the poor child to try
again. She watched and waited months for a seamstress. In the fullness
of time a milliner came in, sent there like all the rest for a debt
which she could not pay; and to her she went to ask a favor for
herself.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said, looking timidly round the door of
the milliner, whom she found in tears and in bed: "but I was born here."

Everybody seemed to hear of her as soon as they arrived; for the
milliner sat up in bed, drying her eyes, and said, just as the
dancing-master had said:

"Oh! _you_ are the child, are you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I am sorry I haven't got anything for you," said the milliner, shaking
her head.

"It's not that, ma'am. If you please, I want to learn needlework."

"Why should you do that," returned the milliner, "with me before you? It
has not done me much good."

"Nothing--whatever it is--seems to have done anybody much good who comes
here," she returned in her simple way; "but I want to learn, just the
same."

"I am afraid you are so weak, you see," the milliner objected.

"I don't think I am weak, ma'am."

"And you are so very, very little, you see," the milliner objected.

"Yes, I am afraid I am very little indeed," returned the Child of the
Marshalsea; and so began to sob over that unfortunate smallness of
hers, which came so often in her way. The milliner--who was not unkind
or hardhearted, only badly in debt--was touched, took her in hand with
good-will, found her the most patient and earnest of pupils, and made
her a good workwoman.

In course of time, the Father of the Marshalsea gradually developed a
new trait of character. He was very greatly ashamed of having his two
daughters work for their living; and tried to make it appear that the