"There is not much time. Let Ellen take the carriage to the station, and I will await her return with the child. So many thanks for your kind help," said Mrs. Austin.
Trains do not stay long at village stations, and Ellen Paterson was only just aware that a little girl in mourning garments was tenderly lifted from a first-class carriage by the guard, and with her belongings deposited on the platform, the station-master's attention having been called to her and a paper thrust into his hand. The carriage lights and those outside showed the faces of two lady passengers who were looking wistfully after their late companion, and then the train moved off, and was lost to sight.
Ellen advanced, and, addressing the station-master, said—
"I have come to meet a little friend. The Monks Lea carriage is waiting. Mrs. Austin was calling upon my mother, and kindly lent it for me to take our visitor back in."
"Here's the little party, no doubt, Miss Ellen. Funny way of sending a child, but all right if she were coming into your hands. Here's her label."
He showed the paper received from the guard, and Ellen read—
"Miss Clare. Newthorpe Station. To be called for."
"This is my little girl," she replied; and, turning to the child, she took her by the hand, kissed her lovingly, and led her to the carriage. Only when she was seated in it did the little one speak.
"I am going to have a sister," she said. "I have no papa now; but Mrs. Allington says I shall have a new mamma, who will be good to me, and give me pretty things. Are you my new mamma?"
There was something so strangely self-contained about this child, her little lesson had evidently been so thoroughly impressed upon her, that Miss Paterson was astonished. There was no sign of fear or doubt in the face confidingly uplifted as she asked the question—no trace of tears or regrets for those she had left behind.