"I do not seem likely to get much information out of this little one," said Ralph to himself; "but she may know people, though she does not know places.—Does a Mr. Daines live near this spot?" he inquired.
The child looked doubtful for a minute, then muttered, "Dun no;" and seemed inclined to pass on.
"Wait a bit, little one," said Ralph. "You may perhaps have heard of Mr. Daines as 'Long John,' for he often went by that name!"
A gleam of intelligence broke at once over the rosy young face. "Eh! Yes; he be father!" she cried. "Nobody don't call him mister."
"Your father!" exclaimed Ralph in surprise; for the speech and dress of the little girl were those of a poor peasant child—not such as might have been expected in one brought up in the comfortable house of his brother. "Do you mean to say that Long John Daines is your father?"
The child nodded her head.
"And where is he now?" cried Ralph.
The little girl raised her sunburnt arm and pointed towards the church which appeared at a little distance.
"Can you take me to the place, my little friend? I will help you over the stile, and carry your fagots for you, and you shall have a bright new shilling when we arrive at your home."
The eyes of the child brightened. She let the stranger lift her over the stile, and kiss her, and gaze in her face—saying that her eyes were just like her father's. She then tripped merrily along by his side, and in reply to Ralph's questions, told him that her name was Mary, and that sometimes she was called Polly. She did not know whether she had any other name, but she knew that she was Long John's little child, for all the folk knew that.