She laid her dry sticks neatly in the corner, and grasping the handles of her barrow, stood facing Andrew silently, who did not raise his grave long face from his work; he did not look encouraging, but she was quite used to that.
“Did ’oo like it, Andoo?” she inquired presently with her head on one side.
“Well, you see, missie,” replied Andrew, “I lost the best thing I had there, through being a fool.”
“Tell Dickie all about it,” said Dickie in a coaxing voice.
She turned her little barrow upside down as she spoke, sat down upon it, and placed one mittened hand on each knee.
“Dickie kite yeddy. Begin,” she said in a cheerful and determined manner.
Andrew took off his hat, and feebly scratched his head; he looked appealingly at the little figure on the barrow as though he would gladly have been excused the task, but though placid, the round face was calmly expectant.
“I dunno as I can call it to mind,” he said apologetically; “you see, missie, it wur a powerful time ago. A matter of twenty years, it wur. It was when I lost my little gal.”
“Where is ’oor ’ittle gal?” asked Dickie.