The man turned and looked sharply at the pale little face so close to his own, and gave a low whistle.
"Do you know who I am?" Patsey asked with dignity.
"And do you know who I am?" demanded the man.
There flashed an illuminating ray of remembrance into Patsey's mind. She had seen this man before, and he was no other than the "Labour candidate" who had stolen her father's seat.
There was silence for a minute till Patsey said earnestly, "If you know who I am, you need not wonder that I biject to wear anything yellow." Then, for Patsey's father had taught her that other people have political opinions too, "And perhaps you biject just as much to carrying a little blue girl."
The man laughed and held her a little closer as he said, "Far from objecting, I like carrying this little blue girl exceedingly. It's a long time since I carried any little girl," he added sadly.
"Haven't you any little girls of your own?" she asked curiously.
"My little girl lies yonder," said the man, nodding his head in the direction of the cemetery.
Patsey lifted her arm and put it round his neck that he might carry her more easily, and, forgetting all about the yellow handkerchief, exclaimed, "How sad! I am so sorry. My mummy is buried there too. Was your little girl ill a long time? My mummy was, months and months. Was your little girl eight, too, like me?"
"She was just ten when she died," the man said quietly, "but she was nothing like so big or so heavy as you, poor little lass! She died because I could get neither food nor firing for her, and I've just been to her grave...." The man paused, and in quite a different tone continued, "And that's why I stand in your father's shoes to-day, little lady, and perhaps I may help to make it better for other little girls by and by."