Rosalie turned round, and behind where she was standing was a very small shop. In the window were children's slates and slate-pencils, with coloured paper twisted round them, and a few wooden tops, and balls of string, and little boxes of ninepins, and a basket full of marbles, and pink and blue shuttlecocks. It was a very quiet little shop indeed, and it looked as if very few customers ever entered it. The slate-pencils and battledores and marbles looked as if they had stood in exactly the same places long before the little girl was born.
Rosalie lifted the latch and opened the door of the little shop for the child to go in. And the little pitcher went in before her.
Rosalie felt sure she must follow it, and that here she would find some one to tell her the way.
'Popsey,' said a voice from the next room—'little Popsey, is that you?'
'Yes, grannie,' said the child; 'and I've not spilt a drop—not one single drop, grannie.'
'What a good, clever little Popsey!' said grannie, coming out of the back parlour to take the milk from the child's hands.
'Please, ma'am,' said Rosalie, seizing the opportunity, 'would you be so very kind as to tell me the way to Pendleton?'
'Yes, to be sure,' said the old woman. 'You're not far wrong here; take the first turn to the right, and you'll find yourself on the Pendleton road.'
'Oh, thank you very much,' said Rosalie. 'Is it a very long way to
Pendleton, please, ma'am?'
'Ay, my dear,' said the old woman; 'it's a good long step—Popsey, take the milk in to grandfather, he's waiting breakfast—it's a good long way to Pendleton, my dear, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles.'