“I couldn’t help it, Miss. Mr Hendon shoved me in like that. I meant to come in by the area.”
“But why did he bring you back like that? Did he know where you had been?”
“Oh, no, Miss! I never tells anybody where I’m going with a note for you; not even Mr Poynter, Miss. Here’s the letter; and Miss Heath said I was to give her love to you, and she hadn’t been because she was so busy.”
Bob drew a letter from his pocket, and as he did so made upon it an ugly mark.
“Why, Bob, your hand’s bleeding!”
“Is it, Miss? Oh, ah! so it is. That ain’t nothink.”
“You are all over mud, too. Have you met with an accident again?”
The boy’s lips parted to say “Yes,” but as he gazed up into the clear searching eyes which looked down so kindly into his, he shook his head.
“No, Miss,” he said boldly.
“Why, Bob, you have not been fighting?”