"
And so, at last, Charney was set free. Of course he was no longer sad
and un-lov-ing. He saw how God had cared for him and the little plant,
and how kind and true are the hearts of even rough men. And he
cher-ished Picciola as a dear, loved friend whom he could never
forget.
MIGNON.
Here is the story of Mignon as I remember having read it in a famous
old book.
A young man named Wil-helm was staying at an inn in the city. One day
as he was going up-stairs he met a little girl coming down. He would
have taken her for a boy, if it had not been for the long curls of
black hair wound about her head. As she ran by, he caught her in his
arms and asked her to whom she belonged. He felt sure that she must be
one of the rope-dan-cers who had just come to the inn. She gave him a
sharp, dark look, slipped out of his arms, and ran away without
speaking.
The next time he saw her, Wil-helm spoke to her again.
"Do not be afraid of me, little one," he said kindly. "What is your
name?"
"They call me Mignon," said the child.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"No one has counted," the child an-swered.
Wilhelm went on; but he could not help wondering about the child, and
thinking of her dark eyes and strange ways.
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