EDITH. Poor child! come in. I will run and bring you something to eat. Sit down here by my little sister's garden until I come back. (_Goes._) LISA. How beautiful she is! I wonder if her little sister died. I would not if I had been her sister. I wish she would let me kiss her once. EDITH, (_returning._) Here is some cake for you. The children called out to me, but I snatched it from the table and flew off. Eat it all, and then you shall tell me who you are, and where you live. LISA. I do not live any where; I go about all the time with mother and the gypsies. EDITH. You are a little gypsy girl then. Was that your sister who came into the garden? LISA. Was she there? She said she was going, but I peeped in and could not see her. EDITH. And you wander about all over the world, seeing wonderful things? LISA. O, yes, we walk about from one place to another, till I am so tired I can hardly stand. When I was small, mother used to carry me; but now I am too big. But at night she wraps her cloak round me, and holds me close in her arms, and sings me to sleep. I like the nights best. In the day she often goes off and leaves me waiting for her, somewhere, all alone. EDITH. In the nights you sleep in your tents, and hear them flapping in the wind, and look out at the stars? LISA. Most always we sleep in a barn. When we can't find one we sleep out doors, and have a fire when it is very cold. I am so sleepy I never look up at the stars, only sometimes. Last night we slept under a tree full of blossoms, and when I woke up, they were blowing over us like a snow storm. I wanted mother to see how pretty they were, but I knew she was tired, so I kissed her softly, and went to sleep again. EDITH. What does she sing to you? LISA _sings_. We have wandered far through forest wild; We have climbed where craggy rocks are piled; Sleep in peace, my gypsy child; Mother watcheth o'er thee. Night winds breathe a lulling sound; Gentle moonlight streams around; Shadows settle o'er the ground; Sweet visions fly before thee. Sleep, my child; to-morrow, waking, To thee shall come no sad heart-aching; One is near--the ne'er-forsaking! Mother watcheth o'er thee. LISA. It makes the tears come into your eyes; does your mother sing it to you? EDITH. O, no, my mother never sings to me. I sleep all alone, in a great, silent room, and they draw the heavy curtains all around, so that not even a star can peep in. I wish I could sleep under the sky as you do. Would it not be pleasant if we could change places a little while! I will be your mother's child, and you shall have all my fine things, and plenty to eat, and can play about all day. LISA. O, yes, but I don't like to leave mother.