"No," said Sir Henry. "I can hardly say I am."
"Then thank you very much, but I shall have to look for some really poor people."
And nothing that he could say would induce her to accompany him home.
She plodded back to the village, but before she reached it, she came upon a little party of tramps who had drawn up their pony and cart by the roadside, and were eating their evening meal.
They were not prepossessing in appearance. Two women, both of whom seemed careworn and down-trodden, four children, ragged and dirty, and a sullen, bad-tempered looking man. Jill looked at them with interest. One of the women had a rusty piece of crape on her bonnet. It was that which prompted Jill to speak.
"Are you a widow?" she asked.
The woman stared at her, but the elder one of the two gave her a nudge, then answered for her.
"Yes, little lady, she be, indeed; lost her por husban' a few weeks ago, an' leaves 'er with three chillen under four year. 'Ave you a copper, miss, to give 'er? for she be on her way to the 'ouse."
"I'm afraid I haven't any money," said Jill, "but I'll sit down and talk to her. It's what I came out to do—to visit widows."
The man eyed Jill up and down in a way that she did not much like, but she was a fearless child, and was so full of the part she meant to play that she did not think of anything else.