"Poppie, dear Poppie!" cried Lucy, earnestly, "do come here. I want you." "Blowed if I go there again, lady!" said Poppie, without moving in either direction. "Come here, Poppie. I won't touch you--I promise you. I wouldn't tell you a lie, Poppie," she added, seeing that she made no impression on the child. To judge by the way Poppie came a yard nearer, she did not seem at all satisfied by the assurance. "Look here, Poppie. There's a little girl--you know her--Mattie--she's lying very ill here, and I can't leave her. Will you take this letter for me--to that big house in Wyvil Place--to tell them I can't come to-day?" "They'll wash me," said Poppie, decisively. "Oh, no, they won't again, Poppie. They know now that you don't like it." "They'll be giving me something I don't want, then. I know the sort of them." "You needn't go into the house at all. Just ring the bell, and give the letter to the servant." Poppie came close up to Lucy. "I'll tell you what, lady: I'm not afraid of _him_. _He_ won't touch me again. If he do, I'll bite worser next time. But I won't run errands for nothink. Nobody does, miss. You ain't forgotten what you guv me last time? Do it again, and I'm off." "A good wash, Poppie--that's what I gave you last time." "No, miss," returned the child, looking up in her face beseechingly. "You know as well as me." And she held up her pretty grimy mouth, so that her meaning could not be mistaken. "Old Mother Flanaghan gave me a kiss once. You remember her gin-bottle, don't you, miss?" she added, still holding up her mouth. For a moment Lucy did hesitate, but from no yielding to the repugnance she naturally felt at dirt. She hesitated, thinking to make a stipulation on her side, for the child's good. "I tell you what, Poppie," she said; "I will kiss you every time you come to me with a clean face, as often as you like." Poppie's dirty face fell. She put out her hand, took the letter, turned, and went away slowly. Lucy could not bear it. She darted after her, caught her, and kissed her. The child, without looking round, instantly scudded. Lucy could hardly believe her eyes, when, going down at Mr. Kitely's call, some time after, she found Poppie in the shop. "She says she wants to see you, miss," said Kitely. "I don't know what she wants. Begging, I suppose." And so she was. But all her begging lay in the cleanness and brightness of her countenance. She might have been a little saint but for the fact that her aureole was all in her face, and around it lay a border of darkness that might be felt. "Back already!" said Lucy, in astonishment. "Yes, lady. I didn't bite him. I throwed the letter at him, and he throwed it out again; and says I, pickin' of it up, 'You'll hear o' this to-morrow, Plush.' And says he, 'Give me that letter, you wagabones.' And I throwed it at him again, and he took it up and looked at it, and took it in. And here I am, lady," added Poppie, making a display of her clean face.