Things, however, having got to the worst, began to mend, or at least were beginning to mend for them, though Peggy and Sarah did not just yet know it. Not far from the edge of the field where they were, a little bridle-path led into a lane, and a few yards down this lane brought them out upon Fernley Road again at last.
"I see the mountings," cried Peggy, "oh, Light Smiley, Peggy sees the mountings. P'raps we won't die, oh p'raps we'll get home safe again."
But though she had been trying to be brave, now that she began to hope again, it was too much for her poor little nerves—Peggy burst into loud sobbing.
"Oh, dear missy, try not to cry," said Sarah. "There—there—where's your hankercher?" and she dived into Peggy's pocket in search of it. And as she pulled it out, out tumbled at the same time the two little scarlet shoes, falling on the ground.
"Oh Light Smiley, my red shoes. They'll be all spoilt and dirtied," said Peggy, as well as she could, for Sarah was dabbing the handkerchief all over her face.
Sarah stooped to pick them up; both children were too much engaged to notice the sound of wheels coming quickly along the quiet road. But the sight of a speck of dirt on one of the shoes set Peggy off crying again, and she cried for once pretty loudly. The wheels came nearer, and then stopped, and this made Sarah look round. A pony-carriage driven by a lady had drawn up just beside them. The groom, sitting behind, jumped down, though looking as if he did not know what he was to do.
"What is the matter, little girls?" said the lady.
"It's, please'm—we've lost our road—it's all along o' me, mum—but I didn't mean no 'arm, only missy's that wore out'm, and——" but before Sarah could get farther, she was stopped by a sort of cry from both the lady and Peggy at once.
"Oh, oh," called out Peggy, "it's the shoes-lady—oh, pelease, pelease, take me home," and she seemed ready to dart into the lady's arms.
"I do believe," she said, "I do believe it's the little girl I saw at the bootmaker's, and—yes, of course it is—there are the shoes themselves! My dear child, whatever are you doing to be so far from home—at least I suppose you live in the town?—and what have you got the dolly's shoes with you for?"