One day, however, the passer-by noticed a great change. Evident signs of habitation made their appearance, and signs of a most unusual kind in a primitive country-place, for in every window in the house there appeared bright fresh yellow muslin curtains. Needless to say, conjecture was rife as to the newcomers but no one seemed to know who they were or whence they came. At last one day the above-mentioned pedestrian passed a child whom he had not seen before, and by that time he knew the face of every child who lived within a mile or two. She was about nine years old, and better dressed than most of the cottage children. Her white pinafore was spotlessly clean, and of fine material, and there was something dainty about the white linen hat which shaded her from the June sunshine. But the most striking things about her were her hair and her complexion. The former was of a particularly beautiful shade of red, and fell thick and curling beneath the white brim of her hat. The latter was pink and white, and, though perfectly healthy, a strong contrast to the browns and reds of the villagers’ bairns. She was pushing a perambulator containing a thoroughly well-appointed baby, and seemed so absorbed in the task that she gave no sort of response to the man’s greeting as he passed by. [Sidenote: The Mysterious Child.] After this they met on most days, and more than once he saw her entering or leaving the house with the yellow curtains. She never seemed to speak to anybody, and never had anything to do with other children who were playing in the lane. Do what he would the man could never get so much as an answering smile from the child’s full and sensitive-looking lips. There was a curious air of mystery about her, and a reserve and habitual melancholy of expression that went to his heart. Added to this there was an appearance of loneliness about her life, for no other member of the family ever seemed to come to the door when she went or came, and for all that could be seen she and the baby might have been living all alone. To a child-lover this daily vision of an unnaturally solitary and probably unhappy life was insupportable. He was continually on the look out for a chance of breaking through the girl’s reserve, and trying to brighten her life. At last one day it seemed as if the opportunity had come. [Sidenote: On the Low Stone Bridge.]