"Dad and I think it nice," she returned, nodding her head; "but it is very short. Daddie says I am too small to have a big name. I am Betty," with an important air. "Dad's little Betty. But dad does always call me Bet. Is your name long or short?"
Waveney was about to answer this friendly question when a man's voice behind them made her start.
"Why, Bet," it said, "why are you perched up here, like a lost robin? And Susan has been looking for you half over the place."
"It is my daddie. It is my dear dad," cried the child, joyously, and the next moment she was running to meet a tall man, who was walking quickly towards them.
Waveney watched the meeting. She saw the man stoop and kiss the little one fondly; and then Bet took hold of his rough coat and drew him towards the seat.
"Susan was naughty, dad. She did tell me to sit there, and she would fetch me, and she did never come at all, but this young lady was very kind, so I did not cry."
"That's my brave little Bet." And then the man took off his hat to Waveney. "Thank you, very much," he said, heartily. "I was obliged to leave my little girl, and I am afraid they neglected her."
Waveney felt vaguely perplexed. The man's face, and even his voice, seemed strangely familiar to her, and yet she was sure she had never seen him before. He was a handsome man, though his face looked weather-beaten and somewhat worn. His clothes were rough and shabby, but his voice was unmistakably cultured; he had evidently seen better days.
"Susan is not always naughty," observed Betty. "She gave me a peppermint once, and it was very nice. Dad, dear, did you find Aunt Joa?" Then the man shook his head in rather a depressed way.
"No, Bet, and we are still down on our luck. There is no such name at Hamerton. Perhaps this lady may know it"—and then he looked a little eagerly at Waveney. "I am a stranger in these parts. Can you tell me if any one of the name of Chaytor lives at Dereham?"