"This is a friend what came to see Dickie when he was ill, father," said Cherry in a deprecating tone.
"Eh! Oh, well, Dickie's all right now; and the train 'ull be gone if you don't come at once. We shan't be back again for many a long day."
He looked askance at Meg, and evidently waited for her to go. She bade a hasty good-bye to the children, and went down-stairs with a sad heart.
So Meg lost sight of her little friends, and though in a month or two's time she went several times to their attic, she could hear nothing of them. The attic had other occupants, and the child and his crippled sister seemed forgotten.
Meanwhile, the winter came and was passing away, while Meg was busy from morning till night. If she were not rendering efficient help to her mother-in-law, she had some work of her own, over which she bent with a happy look in her face which made it like sunshine.
One morning as she was returning from fetching some yeast for her bread-making, for Meg had set up a regular practice of supplying her husband with her own baking, she entered the doorway just as the toddling girl belonging to the woman on the ground floor did the same.
The little one was running at full speed, and before Meg could put out her hand to save her, she tripped over a bit of brick which was lying in her path, and down she came with her head against the stone doorstep.
Meg quickly picked her up, and recognizing her, knocked at the door just as the child's mother ran to see what the screams were about.
"I'm afraid she's hurt," she said, entering; "her head came right against the corner."
"Dear, dear, dear!" exclaimed the mother, with an inward feeling that here was another misfortune; "I never did see such children! There, child, leave off screaming and I'll see to yer."