'No, miss; except in picking the herbs and roots for me sometimes. He can do that, and he knows one from t'other.'
'He's of some use to you, at any rate, then,' said Milly.
'Little enough,' the old woman answered sulkily. 'I don't want help; I've plenty of time to gather them myself. But I've taught him to pick them, and it's the only thing he ever could learn.'
'Poor fellow! He's your only grandchild, isn't he, Mrs. Thatcher?'
'Yes, he's the only one, miss, and he'd need be. I don't know how I should keep another. You can't remember my daughter Ruth? She was as pretty a girl as you'd care to see. She was housemaid at Cumber priory in Mrs. Egerton's time, and she married the butler. They set up in business in a little public-house in Thornleigh village, and he took to drinking, till everything went to rack and ruin. My poor girl took the trouble to heart more than her husband did, a great deal; and I believe it was the trouble that killed her. She died three weeks after that boy was born, and her husband ran away the day after the funeral, and has never been heard of since. Some say he drowned himself in the Clem; but he was a precious deal too fond of himself for that. He was up to his eyes in debt, and didn't leave a sixpence behind him; that's how Peter came to be thrown on my hands.'
'Come here, Peter,' said Milly softly; and the boy went to her directly, and took the hand she offered him.
'You've not forgotten me, have you, Peter? Miss Darrell, who used to talk to you sometimes a long time ago.'
The boy's vacant face brightened into something like intelligence.
'I know you, miss,' he said; 'you was always kind to Peter. It's not many that I know; but I know you.'
She took out her purse and gave him half-a-crown.