The latch was lifted from the inside, and there stood before Hoodie—not an old woman with either "big" or little eyes, not a "grandmother" with a frilly cap all round her face, such as she had been vaguely expecting, yet certainly not a "woof" either! The person who stood in the doorway smiling down on the little girl was a very pretty and pleasant-looking young woman, with a fresh rosy face and merry eyes, and a sleeping baby in her arms!
For the first moment Hoodie was too surprised to understand what she saw.
At last, "I want my grandmother," she said. "You aren't my grandmother. I thought this was her cottage."
The young woman smiled again.
"No, Missy, you must have made a mistake. But your grandmother doesn't live in a little cottage like this, Missy, I'm sure. You must have quite come out of your road. Whose little lady are you?"
Hoodie shook her head.
"I want to live with my grandmother," she replied. "I don't want to be anybody's little lady. I've come such a long way—I know the cottage should be aside a wood, just like this. And I'm so tired and firsty."
The quiver in her voice told that the self-control was coming to an end. The young woman's sympathy awoke at once.
"Poor dear," she said. "Tired, of course you must be tired. Come in, dearie, and sit you down, and you shall have something to drink and to eat too, if you please. What would you like?" she went on, after she had established Hoodie on a funny little arm-chair by the fire—a chair bought last fair-day by her husband in his extreme delight at being the possessor of a fortnight old baby—"what would you like, Missy—a cup of milk—or some tea? Kettle's boiling, and 'tis just upon tea-time."
"What a nice little chair," said Hoodie, making the observation that first came into her head before replying to the questions asked her, as was a habit of hers. "What a nice little chair! It just fits me," turning her fat little body—to confess the truth, a rather tight fit—and the chair about together, like a snail congratulating itself on its shell.