.
Bunty scrambled up, sat down in an unhappy little heap among some
straw, and began thoughtfully to gnaw an apple.

If ever a little lad was in need of a wise loving, motherly
mother it was this same dirty-faced, heavyhearted one who sat
with his small rough head against a cobwebby beam and muttered
dejectedly, "'Twasn't my fault: 'Twas the horse:"

He fancied something moved in the second loft, which was divided
from the one he was in by a low partition. "Shoo--shoo, get away!"
he called, thinking it was rats. He struck the floor several times
with his heavy little boots.

"Shoo!" he said.

"Bunty,"

The boy turned pale to his lips. That odd, low whisper of his
name, that strange rustle so near him--oh, what COULD it mean?

"Bunty."

Again the name sounded. Louder this time, but in a tired voice,
that struck him some way with a strange thrill. The rustling grew
louder, something was getting over the partition, crossing the
floor, coming towards him. He gave a sob of terror and flung
himself face downwards on the ground, hiding his little blanched
face among the straw.

"Bunty," said the voice again, and a light hand touched his arm.

"Help me--HELP me!" he shrieked. "Meg--oh! Father--Esther!"

But one hand was hastily put over his mouth and another pulled him
into a sitting position.

He had shut his eyes very tightly, so as not to see the ghostly
visitant that he knew had come to punish him for his sin. But
something made him open them, and then he felt he could never
close them again for amazement.

For, it was Judy's hand that was over his mouth, and Judy's self
that was standing beside him.

"My golly!" he said, in a tone of stupefaction. He stared hard
at her to make sure she was real flesh and blood. "However did
you get here?"

But Judy made no answer. She merely took the remaining apple
and cake from his hand, and, sitting down, devoured them in
silence.

"Haven't you got any more?" she said anxiously. Then he
noticed what a tall, gaunt, strange-looking Judy it was. Her
clothes were hanging round her almost in tatters, her boots were
burst and white with dust, her brown face was thin and sharp,
and her hair matted and rough.

"My golly!" the little boy said again, his eyes threatening
to start out of his head--"my golly, Judy, what have you been
doin'?"

"I--I've run away, Bunty," Judy said, in a quavering voice.
"I've walked all the way from school. I wanted to see you