"What's yer name, missy?" he asked again. "Ain't yer got one?" as Judy, disregarding him, seemed bent on demolishing the bun. She nibbled all round it, holding it with both hands, serenely callous to her companion's beguilements. "Doody," at last she vouchsafed, in a pause for rest, looking interestedly at the pattern she had vandyked. "That's a funny name. Ain't you got another?" he inquired. A reminiscent smile broke over the vivid face. "Daddy's Kistabel," she murmured softly, removing her eyes from his face and considering another bite. "An' yer daddy might do worse nor kiss you, I reckon," admiringly; "but it's a rummy one, too." The flash of the dark eyes opposite was irresistible. It awoke good thoughts in the potman's mind. "You've runned away, I reckon?" he observed, bending forward. Judy looked all over the ugly face thus presented to her immediate vision. Its corrugated surface fascinated her. Stretching one hand out, she softly touched the knobbly nose and laughed aloud, hunching her shoulders in glee. Her own flower-like face was an equal attraction to the potman. "Lilies an' roses ain't in it with her," he murmured admiringly. "An' eyes as big as plums and as dark as--stout." "Where do yer live?" he next essayed. "D'ink," said Judy, occupied with the problem of what was to be done with the bun whilst she drank from the mug beside her. "'Old!" she commanded, holding out the bun, as she realised that her own dangling legs made a very unstable, insufficient knee. "Bless yer, missy, look at my 'ands!" the potman answered. Judy looked, bending her dainty face with keen interest above the members, encrusted with dirt and neglect, held out before her. "Dirty!" she exclaimed delightedly, lifting sympathetic eyes to the equally dirty face, and she laughed again in keen enjoyment. Dirt always commanded Judy's suffrages. "'Old!" she commanded again, undaunted by the sight presented to her; and with sweet and dainty curvings of her soft fingers she pressed the nibbled scone upon the greasy palms. Then the potman handed her the mug and Judy drank. "Out to tea?" she said again, a little doubtfully, as, her draught finished, she recovered her scone. But the rosy mouth paused half-open, and Judy's eyes fixed themselves observantly on an advancing figure. "Man," she said, directing the potman's gaze to the road. It was a policeman passing by, and the potman stood up alertly. "Here," he called, "here's a little gel." And the two men stood solemnly regarding Judy. "I 'xpect she's lost," he suggested slowly. The policeman's eyes fixed themselves on the dainty embroidery of Judy's little petticoat, visible under her lifted skirt--a contrast to the bare and dusty ankles it enclosed. The dragged-aside cotton pinafore, from which one arm was freed, revealed the elaborate smocking with which nurse was wont to ornament the simple frock. Lastly, Judy's face came in for careful scrutiny. "How did you pick her up?" he asked.