"She will be one of the many lonely unattached women, I suppose. No parents or brothers and sisters, I hear; being brought home by the Commissioner of the district in which her parents died. He seems rather in a quandary about her, for there is a doubt as to whether any relatives will turn up. Poor mite! I suppose a school or orphanage will be her fate."
Their voices reached the child's ears. She did not turn her head, but big tears rose to her eyes. Then she brushed them away with the back of her hand. Another voice, and a hand on her shoulder, made her glance up, and in an instant her face was glowing and radiant with delight.
"Well, little Harebell, we're home at last! Now for a scrimmage at the Customs, and then we'll dine together at some hotel! We won't think about to-morrow, will we? I don't fancy anybody on the pier belongs to you, do you think so?"
The big Commissioner—six foot in his stockings—glanced down at his protégée with laughing eyes; but there was a big pity at the bottom of his heart for her future. She slipped her hand into his with great content.
"We'll have a beautiful evening," she said in clear soft tones. "And do you think we might have ice-pudding to-night?"
"We'll have the best of everything! A perfect feast! Now then—come along!"
There was a rush to the gangway; laughter, tears, and fervent embraces were in the atmosphere around them; but he piloted her safely through the crowd. He cast a quick glance around him. Was there any one ready to greet this lonely little one? He had decided in his own mind that there was not.
"I believe you'll have to come to Scotland with me to see my old mother," he said cheerily.
Harebell laughed aloud at the thought. It was what she had been hoping. She cried fervently:
"Oh, I do hope there's nobody here who wants me!"