CHAPTER IV.
LITTLE TIMPEY.
I do not think I have ever seen a prettier face than that child's. She had light brown hair, and round rosy cheeks, and the bluest of blue eyes.
She awoke as we were looking at her, and seeing herself amongst strangers, she cried bitterly.
'Poor little thing!' said Mrs. Millar. 'She wants her mother.'
'Mam—ma! Ma—ma!' cried the little girl, as she caught the word.
Mrs. Millar fairly broke down at this, and sobbed and cried as much as the child.
'Come, my lass,' said her husband, 'cheer up! Thee'll make her worse, if thee takes on so.'
But Mrs. Millar could do nothing but cry. 'Just think if it was our Polly!' was all that she could say. 'Oh, Jem, just think if it was our Polly that was calling for me!'
My grandfather took the child from her, and put her on my knee. 'Now, Mary,' he said, 'get us a bit of fire and something to eat, there's a good woman! The child's cold and hungered, and we're much about the same ourselves.'