"Little girl!" he called, in voice round and sonorous, "little girl, come you 'ere and come immediate!"
The child started, turned, and after a moment's hesitation hobbled forward, her little face as white as her pinafore. At the foot of the broad steps leading up to the piazza she paused, looking up at him with great, pleading eyes.
Mr. Brimberly beckoned with portentous finger.
"Little girl, come 'ere!" he repeated. "Come up 'ere and come immediate!"
The small crutch tapped laboriously up the steps, and she stood before Mr. Brimberly's imposing figure mute, breathless, and trembling a little.
"Little girl," he demanded, threatening of whisker, "'oo are you and—what?"
"Please, I'm Hazel."
"Oh, indeed," nodded Mr. Brimberly, pulling at his waistcoat. "'Azel 'oo, 'Azel what—and say 'sir' next time, if you please."
"Hazel Bowker, sir," and she dropped him a little curtsey, spoiled somewhat by agitation and her crutch.
"Bowker—Bowker?" mused Mr. Brimberly. "I've 'eard the name—I don't like the name, but I've 'eard it."