"Shall we ask them to come and join us?" queried Zillah.
"No; they don't look nice; they're dirty," whispered Cyril, with a glance of disgust directed toward the strangers.
"Maybe dey is hungry," suggested Fan, "let's dive 'em some fing out o' de basket."
"Good afternoon, little girls," said Zillah, raising her voice slightly as they drew near; "will you come and sit with us?"
They shook their heads but came creeping on, each with a finger in her mouth.
"Have you had your dinner?" An affirmative nod.
"I'm going to tell a story to these children, and if you like to come and listen too, you can. What are your names?"
"Mine's Emmaretta Lightcap, and hers is Minerva Lightcap. She's my sister, she is. Now go on and tell your story. Min, let's set down on the grass right here."
They listened in open-mouthed wonder till summoned by a shrill voice from the direction of the smithy, when they rose and scampered away.
The Keiths were a very domestic family; no place like home to them; and all, from the father down to little Fan, were heartily weary of the unsettled life they had led for some weeks past.