Only it was not quite like his little maid; this little one was taller and thinner, and her cheeks were not so round and had not the sweet flush that he knew, and her eyes were bigger and had a wistful look in them that she had never had cause to wear. It was a vision—but it was like her—oh, very like her as she had looked in her whiteness and her innocence.... He took his pipe from his mouth; it dropped between his fingers on to the bench beside him; and he sat staring at her; but he would not move for fear the sweet figure should vanish, for fear the joyful dream should come to an end and he should be awake again and alone with his loneliness. But _she_ moved. She swung her little arms on high as she had been wont to do whenever she was happy; then she ran forward—ran straight towards him across the lawn—ran, with a cry of joy, straight to her old place upon his bosom. Then he knew that it was no vision, but just his little maid in the flesh, warm and living and loving—his little maid come back to him. He asked no questions; he just held her there—where she had flown—to his heart; he just held her there and was content. But she spoke. “I be come ’ome, Daddie,” she said. “Daisy didn’t like bein’ away down there by the far beach where there wasn’t no Daddie. And she didn’t know whativer er old Daddie would do wivout ’is little maid. ’Cos when I was near drownded dead in the river ’oo said I mustn’t niver—niver go away from my old Dad.” He clasped her a little tighter, but still he did not speak. “I be very tired, Daddie,” she said in a minute. “I be dreadful tired.” Then he opened his lips. “’Owever did you get ’ere, little ’un?” he said. “I runned,” she answered simply. “What, all the way?” asked he. She nodded her head. “First I runned very fast,” she said, “’cos I was f’ightened Mrs. Low’d ’ave me and whop me. And then I runned slower, but I runned all the time. _I_ remembered the way, I did,” said she, wisely nodding her head again. A spasm of fury seized him, but it turned to self-reproach, and then again, quickly, it turned to simple thankfulness. “That _was_ clever of you,” said he mechanically as he had often been wont to say when he knew she expected praise. “Yes, that _was_ clever of me,” assented she, well-contented, “but I wanted to get ’ome quick. They said down there I ’adn’t got no Dad, they did. But I knew THAT weren’t true, so I come. And I didn’t stop on the way, neither—not to look at the sweets nor nothin’—’cos I wanted my Daddie, I did!” She paused for an answer but none came—only the arm held her a little more firmly in her place. So she added, shaking him a little as she had used to do: “But I wants my supper bad. I be very hungry, I be!” “Pore little ’un!” murmured he, thinking of her face that was not so plump or so rosy as it once had been, and of her eyes that were more wistful: “Pore mite!” “And we’ll go and buy sweets one day, Daddie, won’t we?” insisted she. “’Cos you promised, ye know.”