"Is he in distress?" said Angelina; "perhaps I can be of some use to him!" and she put her hand into her pocket, to feel for her purse. "He's a very honest, industrious little boy," said Mrs. Porett, "and he supports his parents by his active ingenuity." "And, Louis, is your father sick still?" continued Clara Hope to the poor boy. "Bien malade! bien malade! very sick! very sick!" said he. The unaffected language of real feeling and benevolence is easily understood, and is never ridiculous; even in the broken English of little Louis, and the broad Scotch tone of Clara, it was both intelligible and agreeable. Angelina had been for some time past feeling in her pocket for her purse. "'Tis gone--certainly gone!" she exclaimed: "I've lost it! lost my purse! Betty, do you know any thing of it? I had it at Mrs. Plait's!--What shall I do for this poor little fellow?--This trinket is of gold!" said she, taking from her neck a locket--"Here, my little fellow, I have no money to give you, take this--nay, you must, indeed." "Tanks! tanks! bread for my poor fader! joy! joy!--too much joy! too much!" "You see you were wrong to laugh at her," whispered Clara Hope to her companions: "I liked her lukes from the first." Natural feeling, at this moment, so entirely occupied and satisfied Angelina, that she forgot her sensibility for her unknown friend; and it was not till one of the children observed the lock of hair in her locket that she recollected her accustomed cant of--"_Oh, my Araminta! my amiable Araminta!_ could I part with that hair, more precious than gold?" "Pless us!" said Betty; "put, if she has lost her purse, who shall pay for the coach, and what will become of our tinners?" Angelina silenced Betty Williams with peremptory dignity. Mrs. Porett, who was a good and sensible woman, and who had been interested for our heroine, by her good-nature to the little French boy, followed Miss Warwick as she left the room. "Let me detain you but for a few minutes," said she, opening the door of a little study. "You have nothing to fear from any impertinent curiosity on my part; but, perhaps, I may be of some assistance to you."--Miss Warwick could not refuse to be detained a few minutes by so friendly a voice. "Madam, you have mentioned the name of Araminta several times since you came into this house," said Mrs. Porett, with something of embarrassment in her manner, for she was afraid of appearing impertinent. "I know, or at least I knew, a lady who writes under that name, and whose real name is Hodges." "Oh, a thousand, thousand thanks!" cried Angelina: "tell me, where can I find her?" "Are you acquainted with her? You seem to be a stranger, young lady, in Bristol. Are you acquainted with Miss Hodges's _whole_ history?" "Yes, her _whole_ history; every feeling of her soul; every thought of her mind!" cried Angelina, with enthusiasm. "We have corresponded for two years past."