‘They told me you were somewhere about, Mrs Wilson, and I thought I had better wait here. How do you do?’
‘La, child, you’ve given me such a turn!’ said Mrs Wilson. ‘You might have been a ghost if it had been in the middle of the night.’
{Illustration: SHE WAS A YEAR OR TWO OLDER THAN MYSELF, I THOUGHT, AND THE LOVLIEST CREATURE I HAD EVER SEEN.}
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Wilson,’ said the girl merrily. ‘Only you see if it had been a ghost it couldn’t have been me.’
‘How’s your papa, Miss Clara?’
‘Oh! he’s always quite well.’
‘When did you see him?’
‘To-day. He’s at home with grandpapa now.’
‘And you ran away and left him?’
‘Not quite that. He and grandpapa went out about some business—to the copse at Deadman’s Hollow, I think. They didn’t want my advice—they never do; so I came to see you, Mrs Wilson.’