He disappeared, and Judy, after a second's pause of indecision, elected not to follow him. The interior into which he had vanished was not inviting. There was a little porch to the closed front door, with wooden seats on either side, and these now caught Judy's vision. Trotting thither, she essayed to climb.
"My! she's a little 'un to be about alone."
"Up," she demanded, when the potman returned, carrying a mug of milk and a very large scone.
Safely seated, with the mug beside her, and the scone held carefully in both hands, she remarked in cheerful accents—"Out to tea," looking at him for corroboration.
"Out to tea? Yes, missy—where do you come from?" he answered. "What's yer mother thinking of to let yer out alone?" he asked.
Judy opened her mouth and fastened her little white teeth into the big stale bun, condescending no answer to inconvenient questions. The potman sat down opposite her and proceeded in his attempts.
"What's yer name, missy?" he asked again. "Ain't yer got one?" as Judy, disregarding him, seemed bent on demolishing the bun. She nibbled all round it, holding it with both hands, serenely callous to her companion's beguilements.
"Doody," at last she vouchsafed, in a pause for rest, looking interestedly at the pattern she had vandyked.
"That's a funny name. Ain't you got another?" he inquired.