Patsey lifted her arm and put it round his neck that he might carry her more easily, and, forgetting all about the yellow handkerchief, exclaimed, "How sad! I _am_ so sorry. My mummy is buried there too. Was your little girl ill a long time? My mummy was, months and months. Was your little girl eight, too, like me?" "She was just ten when she died," the man said quietly, "but she was nothing like so big or so heavy as you, poor little lass! She died because I could get neither food nor firing for her, and I’ve just been to her grave...." The man paused, and in quite a different tone continued, "And that’s why I stand in your father’s shoes to-day, little lady, and perhaps I may help to make it better for other little girls by and by." "I wish my daddie had known," Patsey said softly. "He would have sent you everything you wanted for her; he would indeed. He’s so good to the poor." The man gave a hard little laugh. "I’ve no doubt of it," he said, "but, you see, that’s not what we want. We’re not over-fond of charity, some of us. Besides, charity’s a bit uncertain. What we want is to be able to give our little girls food and firing our own selves. Yes, charity’s a bit uncertain and children’s appetites uncommonly regular." "Were you hungry and cold too?" asked Patsey. Again the man laughed that queer, hard laugh. "It don’t hurt a man to be hungry and cold occasionally," he said grimly, "but too much of it breaks a man’s spirit. It’s seeing them belonging to him hungry and cold and not being able to help them that puts the devil into a man. I beg your pardon, little lady, but there’s no other word." By this time they had turned into Patsey’s own drive. The sun was setting behind the house, gorgeous and golden, and the mellow light fell full on the face of the "dirty Radical" who carried Patsey. She considered him carefully. It was a sad face, strong and lined with hardship and suffering, but there was something in the expression of his eyes that made her forget his politics, and she patted his shoulder, saying warmly, "I hope you will succeed, indeed I do." Her father, still in his muddy hunting things, was standing on the steps looking anxiously down the drive. When he saw them he ran forward, exclaiming anxiously, "Patsey, my darling, what has happened?" "It’s all right, daddie," Patsey called back. "I’ve had a spill off my bicycle, and this ... gentleman found me and has carried me all the way home." Patsey’s father smiled a whimsical smile as he held out his arms for her, and as the muddy little figure changed hands, he said, "You are evidently determined to benefit _all_ your constituents, sir." The Labour member smiled too, but his face was very sad as he answered, "You might have my place and welcome, if I could have what you hold in your arms."