She gave one glance around, to see if she was quite abandoned, and then, seeing no trace of her companions, she curtsied timidly, and stood her ground.
‘Little girl,’ said the Rector, in a terrible voice, ‘I don’t know you—what is your name?’
She hung her head awkwardly, and made no reply.
‘Do you hear me? What is your name?’
The little girl raised her head, looked straight at the Rector, and answered in a clear voice—
‘If you please, sir, I’m Madlin—Mark Peartree’s girl.’
The Rector’s brows came down still more.
‘Mark Peartree; I think I know the man—he lives down at the ferry, and sails in a barge. Is he your father?’
The girl, who had a common straw hat swinging by the ribbon in her mouth, gnawed the ribbon, and replied shortly—
‘No, he ain’t.’