"This 'ere's the Markis dee Flavinny's little boy, Mam."
Anne could not remove his hat, as he had been taught to do in the presence of ladies, since he was already bareheaded. "Did you wish to see my Papa, Madame?" he inquired rather diffidently. "Because he is ill. . . ."
The lady had never taken her eyes off him since he first appeared. Even through the veil, Anne thought she was very beautiful.
"I should like to talk to you a little first," she said, in a sweet voice, speaking French. "Shall we go and sit on that seat over there?"
They went over to it, and she sat down; but Anne, still a trifle doubtful, stood in front of her clutching the string of his horse.
"And what have you in your cart?" inquired the lady, putting back her veil.
"Leaves," replied the little boy. "I fetch them from there, and I empty them out there. It is to help John Simms, but it takes a long time."
A pause, and then the visitor observed, "Did you say that your father was ill, Anne?"
The child nodded. "He was wounded over there in France, at Qui—Quiberon, Madame. He has been very ill, but he is going to get better now."
"And is——" began the lady, and then seemed to change her mind about what she was going to say. "I suppose he had friends who went to Quiberon too?" she suggested.