Lucy turned round upon Bertram with a little surprise to find him so near her, and then a little rising glow of color and a look in her mild eyes of mingled curiosity and compassion, which penetrated him with sudden consciousness, annoyance, yet amusement. Already it was evident Ralph had found a moment a tell his tale. “Oh, Mr. Bertram!” Lucy said. She would have said precisely the same in whatever circumstances; the whole difference was in the tone. Then a small voice was uplifted at her feet. “It is the gemplemans,” Tiny said. “So you remember me, little one? though we only saw each other in the dark. Will you come for a walk with me, Tiny?” Bertram said. The child looked at him with serious eyes. Now that he saw her in daylight she was not the common model of the angelic child, but dark, with a little olive tint in her cheeks and dark brown hair waving upon her shoulders. He scarcely recognized, except by the serious look, the little runaway of the previous night, yet recognized something in her for which he was not at all prepared, which he could not explain to himself. Why did the child look at him so? And he looked at her, not with the half fantastic, amused liking which had made him seek her out, but seriously too, infected by her survey of him, which was so penetrating and so grave. After Tiny had given him this investigating look, she put her little velvety hand into his, with the absolute confidence of her age, “’Ess, me go for a walk,” she said. “Now, Tiny, talk properly to this gentleman; let him see what a lady you can be when you please,” said Lucy. “She’s too old to talk like that, isn’t she, Mr. Bertram? She is nearly five! and she really can talk just as well as I can, when she likes. Tiny! now remember!” Lucy was very earnest in her desire that Tiny should do herself justice; but once more lifted the swift, interrogative look which seemed to say, as he knew she would, “Oh, Mr. Bertram--why?” “Where shall we go for our walk, Tiny?” Bertram said. “Take Tiny down to the pond; nobody never take me down to the wasser. Mamma says Tiny tumble in, but gemplemans twite safe. Come, come, afore mummie sees and says no.” “But, Tiny, if you’re sure your mother would say no--” “Qwick, qwick!” cried Tiny. “If mummie says nuffin, no matter; but if she says no!”--this was uttered with a little stamp of the foot and raised voice as if in imitation of a familiar prohibition--“then Tiny tan’t go. Come along, quick, quick.” It was clear that Tiny’s obedience was to the letter, not the spirit. “But I don’t know the way,” said Bertram, holding a little back. “Come, come!” cried the child, dragging him on. “Tiny show you the way.” “And what if we both fall in, Tiny?” “You’s too old, too big gemplemans to fall into the wasser--too big to have any mummie.” “Alas! that’s true,” he said.