Billy listened. He heard a babel of children's voices mingled with merry laughter in the road outside the shop. A few minutes later the door between the shop and parlour opened softly, and little May came in. The instant she caught sight of her mother's visitor her look became eager.
"Have you found her?" she cried, her blue eyes fixed anxiously on Billy's face.
"Found who?" Billy inquired, not understanding.
"She's thinking of your poor mother," Mrs. Dingle explained hastily; "she doesn't realise she's dead." Then, addressing her little daughter, she asked: "Where's Harold?"
"In the road, mummy," was the reply.
"Run and fetch him, there's a dear!"
After the child had gone Mrs. Dingle said—
"You mustn't mind if she questions you about your mother. May is backward for her age—there are many things she can't understand, though she's sharp enough in some ways. She learns hardly anything at school. She can't read, or write, or do sums. The mistress doesn't bother her to learn, for she knows she can't. Still, it's good for her to be with other children. By-and-by, perhaps, but God only knows—"
She broke off abruptly, May having returned, followed by her brother.
Harold was very like his mother in appearance, being a stout, rosy-cheeked boy. His blue eyes had a merry twinkle in them, and he looked full of fun.