Lifting my eyes in surprise--for I had thought the movement in the dingle was only Leah, coming to see after me--there stood the sweetest fairy of a child before me. The sleeves of her cotton frock and white pinafore were tied up with black ribbons; her face was delicately fair, her eyes were blue as the sky, and her light curls fell low on her pretty neck. My child heart went out to her with a bound, then and there. "What oo trying for, 'ittle boy?" "I was crying for mamma. She's gone away from me to heaven." "S'all I tiss oo?" And she put her little arms round my neck, without waiting for permission, and gave me a dozen kisses. "Now we make the ball, 'ittle boy. S'all oo dive it to me?" "Yes, I will give it to you. What is your name?" "Baby. What is oors?" "Charles. Do you----" "You little toad of a monkey!--giving me this hunt! How came you to run away?" The words were spoken by a tall, handsome boy, quite old compared with me, who had come dashing through the dingle. He caught up the child and began kissing her fondly. So the words were not meant to hurt her. "It was oo ran away, Tom." "But I ordered you to stop where I left you--and to sit still till I came back again. If you run away by yourself in the wood, you'll meet a great bear some day and he'll eat you up. Mind that, Miss Blanche. The mamsie is in a fine way; thinks you're lost, you silly little thing." "Dat 'towslip ball for me, Tom." Master Tom condescended to turn his attention upon me and the ball. I guessed now who they were: a family named Heriot, who had recently come to live at the pretty white cottage on the other side the copse. Tom was looking at me with his fine dark eyes. "You are the parson's son, I take it, youngster. I saw you in the parson's pew on Sunday with an old woman." "She is not an old woman," I said, jealous for Leah. "A young one, then. What's your name?" "Charles Strange." "He dot no mamma, he try for her," put in the child. "Oo come to my mamma, ittle boy; she love oo and tiss oo." "When I have made your ball." "Oh, bother the ball!" put in Tom. "We can't wait for that: the mamsie's in a rare way already. You can come home with us if you like, youngster, and finish your ball afterwards." Leaving the cowslips, I caught up my hat and we started, Tom carrying the child. I was a timid, sensitive little fellow, but took courage to ask him a question. "Is your name Tom Heriot?" "Well, yes, it _is_ Tom Heriot--if it does you any good to know it. And this is Miss Blanche Heriot. And I wish you were a bit bigger and older; I'd make you my playfellow."