A small room with a low bed in one corner, and a black stove, and pots and dishes hanging on the walls; a cradle with a baby in it, and by the cradle a pleasant-faced young woman sitting in a wicker chair sewing busily—so busily that it was quite a minute before she raised her eyes and saw the little grey-coated figure standing at the door with the dog at its side.
“Well, little dear,” she said, “an’ what do you want?”
Dickie murmured something, of which only the word circus was distinct.
“Is mammy at the circus?” asked the woman smiling; but Dickie shook her head decidedly.
“Why, bless your little ’art,” said the woman, getting up from her chair, “I expect you’ve lost your folks. You come in and stay a-longer me till the circus is done, and then we’ll find ’em. Jem ’ull be ’ome then. I’d go myself, but I can’t leave the little un here.”
Dickie began to pout in a distressed manner when the woman took her up in her arms; this was not the circus after all. But just as she was making up her mind to cry her attention was caught by something lying on the baby’s cradle, and she held out her hand for it and said “Pitty!” It was a tiny roughly-made scarlet leather boot, rather faded and worn, but still bright enough to please Dickie’s fancy. She chuckled to herself as the woman gave it her, and muttered something about “Andoo’s ’ittle gal;” and presently, tired with her great adventure and made drowsy by the warmth of the little room, she dropped off to sleep on the woman’s knee, with the boot hugged tightly to her bosom.
“Pretty dear! What a way her folks will be in!” said the woman to herself, and she laid Dickie softly on the bed and covered her with a shawl.
They were indeed “in a way” at the vicarage. When the circus party came back they found everyone in a state of most dreadful anxiety, and the whole house in confusion. Dickie was missing! Every crevice and corner was searched, and every place, likely and unlikely, that a child could be in. No Dickie. Could she possibly have gone into the village alone? It was getting dusk; there were strange people and tramps about—it was an alarming thought. Andrew must go at once and inquire at every cottage.
Andrew went, lantern in hand, and chin buried in his old grey comforter. “Had anyone seen Miss Dickie and the dorg that arternoon?”