The boy raised a hot face, and touched his ragged cap. He was much taller and bigger than Philippa herself but it seemed right to her to call him "little boy." "Who are you?" was her first question. "I've never seen you before." "I'm the new gardener's boy, miss," he answered; "I ain't been here long." Philippa looked down at him, wondering what she should say next. "Are you," she began hesitatingly, after a moment's pause--"are you very poor?" The boy seemed a little puzzled. He sat back on his heels, and scraped the gravel thoughtfully from the blade of his knife. "We ain't near so bad off as some in Upwell," he said at last; "but we could do with a little more sometimes, now that Becky's so bad." "Oh, you live at Upwell, do you?" said Philippa; "and who is Becky, and why is she bad?" "She's my sister, miss," answered the boy, "and she's had a fall and hurted her back. She can't run about, and hasn't not for ever so long. It's very hard on Becky. She was always one to like running about." "Won't she ever get well?" asked Philippa, drawing a little nearer, and speaking with real interest. "The doctor says she will, if so be she keeps quiet a bit longer, and has lots of nourishing things," replied the boy. "Why doesn't she have them, then?" asked Philippa. The boy cast down his eyes. "Well, you see, miss, up to now things has been a bit orkerd. Father didn't always bring home much, and I was at school. But that'll be different now, and I expect we'll get along fine." At this moment Miss Mervyn appeared from the house. She carried Philippa's broad hat, a parasol, and a small knitted shawl, and came hastening up rather breathless. "My dear child," she exclaimed, "no hat, nothing to shield you from the sun, and nothing over your shoulders! You will most certainly be ill!" She put the hat on Philippa's head, and the shawl round her neck, as she spoke. "Your tea is ready," she continued, with a puzzled glance at the boy, who had fallen busily to work again. Philippa made no other answer than a sharp backward drive with her elbow, which nearly hit Miss Mervyn in the face as she stooped anxiously over her. Then she continued hurriedly to the boy: "What's your name, and where do you live in Upwell? I mean to go and see your sister, and take her some nourishing things." "Thank you, miss," murmured the boy shyly; "my name's Dan Tuvvy, and we live at Number 10 Market Street." "Then," said Philippa, "it's your father, I suppose, that works for Mr Solace?" Dan nodded. "And it was my cousin Dennis," continued Philippa, with a superior air, "who was so very good to him, you know, and took so much trouble to persuade Mr Solace not to turn him away. You ought to be very grateful, you know, to my cousin Dennis."