With one glad cry of joy, Rosalie flung herself into the little woman's arms.
Mother Manikin drew back at first; it was dark, and she could not see
Rosalie's face.
But when the child said, in a tone of distress, 'Mother Manikin, dear Mother Manikin, don't you know me? I'm little Rosalie Joyce,' the dear little old woman was full of love and sympathy in a moment.
She dragged Rosalie indoors into a warm little kitchen at the back of the house, where the table was spread for tea, and a kettle was singing cheerily on the fire; and she sat on a stool beside her, with both her little hands grasping Rosalie's.
'And now, child,' she said, 'how ever did you find me out?'
'I didn't find you out, Mother Manikin,' said Rosalie; 'you found me out.'
'What do you mean, child?' said the old woman.
'Why, dear Mother Manikin, I didn't know you were here. I didn't know who it was till I had finished unfastening the shutter.'
'Bless me, child! then what makes you out at this time of night? Has your caravan just arrived at the fair?'
'No, dear Mother Manikin, I've not come to the fair. I'm quite alone, and I have five miles farther to walk.'