It was the clearest little voice in the world, and it spoke with a trill which Boy Hugh seemed to have heard somewhere before. It conveyed somehow, indeed, a reminiscence of Miss Celie Tennant. But the little lady who spoke was only a year or two older than Boy Hugh himself, and she was dressed in the daintiest creamy stuff, fine like cobweb. Boy Hugh looked at her in such amazement that he came near to letting go the birch-tree altogether. She seemed to him to be all wonderful, with yellow hair like summer clouds, and blue eyes full of pity. Boy Hugh recalled certain things which he had heard at Hunker Court. "Are you an angel?" he said, quite seriously. "Oh no, silly!" cried the maiden gaily, shaking her fleece bewilderingly at him. "Of course, I am only a little girl. I just tooked my parolsol and comed a walk. And you are the very nicest little boy that ever I saw—quite a child, of course," she added patronisingly. "But take hold of my parolsol. Be careful not to splash me when you shake yourself. And after that I'll give you a kiss. I like nice little boys!" "What is a kiss?" asked Boy Hugh. They did not deal in the commodity in the Tinklers' Lands. And even if his sister Vara did kiss him to sleep every night, and was for ever kissing the baby as if its mouth was a sweetmeat, she did not think it becoming or menseful to mention the word. So that, quite sincerely, Boy Hugh asked again, "What is a kiss, little girl?" "Come up here, nice boy, and I will show you!" replied the maiden promptly. And somehow Hugh knew that this was an invitation by no means to be declined. ADVENTURE XXXVIII. OF MISS BRIGGS AND HER TEN CATS. "Now then, do you like it?" asked this frank young person. But Hugh Boy was silent as to what he thought of his first knowledgable kiss. Not that it mattered, for the gay little lady rattled on regardless. "And what is your name, little boy? You are very ragged, and you have come a long way. But you are clean, and Aunt Robina can't scold me, for she tells me to be kind to the poor, especially when they are quite clean." Boy Hugh bashfully answered that his name was Hugh Kavannah. "And a very nice name it is, nice little boy!" the maid rattled on, heeding him but little, but loving the sound of her own twitter. The children went over the moor together, till it began to feather into sparse birch-woods and thicker copses towards the plain. Sometimes as they went the little girl's hair whipped Boy Hugh's brow. He had forgotten all about Vara and the baby.