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she could place no trust in him, and had come to consider herself the
head of the family, and to speak of him as "my child," or "my bad boy,"
ordering him about as if he were in truth, a child.

When Lizzie Hexam's brother and a friend, Bradley Headstone, paid their
first visit to the house on Church Street, they knocked at the door,
which promptly opened and disclosed a child--a dwarf, a girl--sitting on
a little, low, old-fashioned arm-chair, which had a kind of little
working-bench before it.

"I can't get up," said the child, "because my back's bad and my legs are


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