t not his character. It is the hardships of life that alone
can do that. He cannot be your son; he will be mine. That is better than
to be a plaything for your sick child, however sweet he may be. I also
will teach the boy.'"

"But he isn't Remi's father," cried Arthur.

"That is true, but he is his master, and Remi belongs to him. For the
time being, Remi must obey him. His parents rented him to Signor
Vitalis, but I will write to them and see what I can do."

"Oh, no, no, don't do that," I cried.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, no, please don't."

"But that is the only thing to do, my child."

"Oh, please, please don't."

If Mrs. Milligan had not spoken of my parents, I should have taken much
more than the ten minutes to say good-by that my master had given me.

"They live in Chavanon, do they not?" asked Mrs. Milligan.

Without replying, I went up to Arthur and, putting my arms round him,
clung to him for a moment then, freeing myself from his weak clasp, I
turned and held out my hand to Mrs. Milligan.

"Poor child," she murmured, kissing me on the forehead.

I hurried to the door.

"Arthur, I will love you always," I said, choking back my sobs, "and I
never, never will forget you, Mrs. Milligan."

"Remi! Remi!" cried Arthur.

I closed the door. One moment later I was with Vitalis.

"Off we go," he said.

And that was how I parted from my first boy friend.

CHAPTER XIII

WEARY DREARY DAYS

Again I had to tramp behind my master with the harp strapped to my
shoulder, through the rain, the sun, the dust, and the mud. I had to
play the fool and laugh and cry in order to please the "distinguished
audience."

More than once in our long walks I lagged behind to think of Arthur, his
mother, and the _Swan_. When I was in some dirty village how I would
long for my pretty cabin on the barge. And how rough the sheets were
now. It was terrible to think that I should never again play with
Arthur, and never hear his mother's voice.

Fortunately in my sorrow, which was very deep, I had one consolation;
Vitalis was much kinder, kinder than he had ever been before. His manner
with me had quite changed. I felt that he was more to me than a master
now. Often, if I dared, I would have embraced him, I so needed love. But
I had not the courage, for Vitalis was not a man with whom one dared be
familiar. At first it had been fear that kept me at a distance, but now
it was something vague, which resembled a sen