Prudence meanwhile advanced to meet the girl in the road. As the distance between them decreased she discovered that what the other carried in her arms was not an inanimate bundle, as she had supposed, but a little child. Instantly her interest quickened. The unexpected appearance of Bessie Clapp had seemed to her merely opportune at a moment when any diversion would have been welcome, but the sight of Bessie with a baby in her arms--presumably her own baby--caught her attention away from her immediate concerns and brought the other's affairs into greater prominence. She had always believed that this girl had been hardly dealt by, and no one had ever considered it worth while to enlighten her. Prudence's sense of justice was in arms, and her liking for Bessie, whom she had known from childhood, awoke anew at sight of the beautiful tragic face with its look of passionate antagonism. She halted in the girl's path and accosted her with disarming friendliness. "I'm so glad to meet you," she said. "I thought you had left this neighbourhood altogether." "There are some as would like to make me leave," said Bessie Clapp, her dark unsmiling gaze on the fair tranquillity of the younger, happier face. "I've been badgered enough. We'm living in the little village down over the hill." "Just five miles away! And I never knew." Prudence bent suddenly over the bundle in her arms. "Is this your child?" she asked. "Yes; he's mine." There was proprietorship but no pride in the admission. It was Prudence's hand which pulled the covering away from the tiny face. "Oh!" she said, and half drew back, and then bent again compassionately over the ugly little mottled piece of humanity in the beautiful young mother's arms. "I've never seen so young a baby before. What do you call him?" "He isn't christened," the sullen voice responded. "I've no patience with those silly customs." "But," began Prudence, and looked perplexed, "he'll have to have a name of his own some time." "We call 'im William," the young mother volunteered. "There's no need for cold water splashing over that. If 'e don't like 'is name later on, 'e can change it." Prudence, steering away from the subject, replaced the shawl over the little face and impulsively held out her arms. "Let me carry him," she said. "I'd love to; and you are tired. Where were you taking him?" "To the farm yonder, among the trees. I get milk for 'im there. 'E's been weaned these three weeks."