A little stream, its course marked by fringing reeds and rushes, wound its way through the fields and crossed the road a little way before her, spanned there by a wooden bridge with high, close sides, overhung at each end by clumps of willows which formed a thick green screen. Slowly and wearily Posey stumbled up the slight ascent leading to the bridge; she had taken but a few steps when a loose board rattled under her tread, and a moment later she started with a little cry as the face of a boy suddenly appeared around a side at the farther end. His eyes also grew wide with surprise, and it was no wonder, for a strange little figure it was which met his gaze. Her shoes were white with dust, her hat was jammed to one side, her cape was all askew, her gingham bundle hung limply from one arm, and in the other hand was the basket, from which she had lost her handkerchief that at first had covered it. This basket with the saucer pumpkin pie on top, was what first caught the boy’s notice, and he called out in a half bargaining, half jesting tone, “Any extra pies you want to trade for tinware this morning?” Then as he saw the tear-stains on her cheeks, into which the dust had settled in grimy streaks, and her swollen, overflowing eyes, he quickly swung himself around onto the bridge, asking, “What is it; what’s the matter?” Now notice was of all things what Posey most dreaded, and as the morning was still early few people were yet stirring, so till now she had not attracted attention. For one thing she had been careful not to do so; since daylight she had crept carefully by the few houses she had passed, as much in the shadow of the fences as possible; and once when she saw a wagon coming, with people and trunks, as if for some railroad station, she had hidden behind a clump of bushes till they were gone by. For her great fear was that some one would send word to Mrs. Hagood, or even return her by force, and every hour but added to her fierce determination never to go back—never! Of course she knew that she would be seen and questioned. “And I must have something ready to say,” had been her thought. “Yes, I know, when any one asks me where I am going, I shall tell them that my Aunt Mary is sick and has sent for me. I know it’s a lie, and I hate liars, but I can’t tell the truth, and if I had an Aunt Mary and she was sick I’m sure she’d send for me,” and with this she had salved her conscience. But now as she heard the friendly tone, and looked into the frank boyish face, with honest, merry blue eyes, and a kindly expression under the sunburn and freckles, she forgot all her prudent plans in a longing for the sympathy that spoke in his tone, and lifting her eyes to his she answered simply, “I’m running away.” He gave a slight whistle of surprise, “Running away? What are you doing that for?”