I dare say it was silly of Mary to be so frightened; but then, you know, she was only a very little girl, and she was not used to rude or rough ways.
“Mamma, mamma!” she cried as she ran along. And she did not even think or know which way she was going. But the town was not a big one, not like London, where her papa had been left alone in the toy-shop—and the street was quiet. Several people noticed the prettily-dressed little girl running so fast, the tears rolling down her face.
“She’s lost her way, poor dear,” said one woman, standing at the door of a greengrocer’s shop.
“She’s been bitten by a dog,” said another.
But nobody did anything till, luckily, Mary flew past the draper’s where she had been with her mamma; one of the young men in the shop was reaching something out of the window and saw her. He called to the draper—Mr Mitcham—and Mr Mitcham, who was a kind man and had little girls of his own, hurried after Mary and soon caught her up, for she was getting very tired now. Her legs were shaking sadly, and her breath seemed to choke her, and her heart,—oh, how her poor heart was thumping—it seemed to come right up into her ears.
“Are you looking for your mamma, my dear?” said Mr Mitcham. He was rather out of breath himself though he had only run a short way, for he was a fat little man, and he seldom took more exercise than walking about his shop.
“Zes, zes!” cried Mary, who went back to her baby talk when she was unhappy or frightened. “Her is goned away, and the naughty boy pulled me off my chair, and—oh, oh, where is my mamma goned?”
Mr Mitcham, could not make out what was the matter, but, luckily, just at that moment her mamma came round the corner of the street. She had found her bag at the saddler’s, but she had had to wait a few minutes for it, as he had locked it up in a drawer while he went to the inn, where the carriage was, to ask if Mrs Bertram was still in the town.
Mamma looked quite startled when she saw poor Mary all in tears, but Mary soon got happy again when she felt her own dear mamma’s hand clasping hers firmly. And then, when mamma had thanked the draper, she turned back to the confectioner’s again, to get the cakes to take home and to pay for them. Mary did not much want to go; she was afraid of seeing the rude boy and his mother again. But mamma told her she must try not to be so easily frightened.
“For, you see, dear, when you ran away in that wild way, I might not have been able to find you for some time, and think how unhappy it would have made me.”