She was well used to sleeping under the stars, but on awaking at the sound of a passing cart, she sat up suddenly, and experienced for almost the first time in her life a sensation of fear. She had dreamt that she heard the tap—tap—of the wooden leg of the man who for years she had supposed to be her father—and that she was hiding in the dark ditch to escape him. She longed now for Jem's protecting presence. A terrible sense of loneliness oppressed her, due no doubt to her tired and hungry condition. Then she realized that it was imperative for her to get some money before she could either satisfy her hunger or procure a night's lodging. Jem's hat had fallen off her head and it took some little time to find it in the dark; but she would not on any account have left it behind her, and when she found it she held it tight, feeling it almost a protection. Anyhow it filled her with comforting thoughts as she trudged along towards Minton. She was sure that Jem would not forget her and would somehow or other find out where she was. She had a strange kind of feeling about him. So long as he was in the world she felt she could not come to much harm without his knowing it and coming to her help. About a mile from Minton Meg found she was passing some large white gates. They were open, and looking up the avenue she caught sight of a brightly lighted house. This might be her chance of earning money, she thought, so made her way towards it. The blinds were not drawn, and the girl stood fascinated with what she saw. A dinner party was in progress, Meg leaned against a tree watching eagerly all that went on. The table was lighted by shaded candles, which cast a soft glow over the white cloth and gleaming silver and glass. Silver dishes were being handed round, and Meg, hungry and tired, could have wept with longing and weariness as she compared her lot, out in the dark, with that of the guests who apparently had more than enough of this world's good things. But she knew she must not give way to tears or her chance of earning food would be diminished. The conversation round the dinner table suddenly stopped, as there floated into the room the air of "The Last Rose of Summer," sung in a rich contralto voice. "What's that?" asked the host in a very vexed tone of voice. "Some beggar no doubt." Then turning to the butler he added, "Send her away, we don't want vagabonds about the premises." "Oh don't," cried a girl, leaning forward to try to get a glimpse of the singer, "she has the most lovely voice. I thought you had arranged it on purpose to give us a treat." "It's a rich contralto," said one of the guests. "She ought to be given a chance of being trained." The host beckoned the butler to his side, while his guests were commenting one to another about the singer. "Give her two shillings and send her away," he said in a low voice.