"Juliet," she said, "I wonder how your father and mother would like to leave London and come and live at Littlebourne?"
"I don't know, ma'am," answered Juliet.
"I have heard a good deal about them from Mrs. Rowles. Your father would have better health if he lived in the country."
By this time they had reached No. 103. Juliet's heart was beating at the sight of the well-known door-step of her home. She forgot all about Mrs. Webster, and ran on. There were lots of boys and girls playing in the street; some called out to her, some stared at Mrs. Webster. But Juliet took no notice; only ran on, climbed up the dear old dirty, steep stairs without bannisters, and got to the door of the back attic, followed closely by her companion.
The girl did not knock, but rushed in, and then stood aghast. A strange woman was there but no one else.
"Where is mother?" cried Juliet.
"Whose mother?" responded the strange woman.
"My mother."
"Ain't she got e'er a name?"
"Yes; she's Mrs. Mitchell."