The child pointed over her shoulder. "Near the Ancient Wood, yonder," she said. "I came to Derrydown to the market. I have sold my dolls; now I am going home with the money."
"Dolls?" queried the Lion, interested in spite of himself. "You make dolls?"
Claribel nodded. "Rag dolls," she said. "My mother made dresses for the villagers. Now I make dolls out of the pieces in the old rag-bag. It buys me bread."
The Lion's heart was softened. "You are so little, Claribel!" he exclaimed. "Have you no one to take care of you?"
The child shook her head. "My mother is dead. I am alone in the world," she said.
"But have you no relatives--no one of noble kin in some palace, some castle?" the Lion cried eagerly.
The child laughed. "I know of no castles," she said; "no kindred at all. I never had any, I think."
The Lion gave a groan. "I will go back to the Curiosity Shop!" he said whimsically. "Good-bye, child!" He started away. But, turning for a last look, he saw Claribel, with her eyes full of tears.
"Do not go!" cried the child. "I like you so much, dear Lion--Ker-chew! Ker-chew! Ker-chew!"
The Lion's heart melted. "You are so little!" he said, "too little to be going on these roads alone. I will see you home." So they took the long road together, the child skipping happily beside the Lion, with her hand in his red mane. And the farther they walked together, the more the Lion liked Claribel, who sneezed whenever she spoke his name, but looked at him with kindly eyes.