chose the latter.

"Miss Hoodie," she exclaimed, "you're a naughty, ungrateful little girl,
a really naughty-hearted little girl--to have upset us all at home so;
your poor mamma nearly ill with fright, and then to meet me like that.
Speaking about not wanting to come home, and you will and you won't. I
never heard anything like it. And to think of all the trouble you must
have given to this--this young woman," she added, turning civilly
enough, but with some little hesitation in her manner, to Mrs. Lizzie,
as if not _quite_ sure whether she did not deserve some share of the
blame.

Poor Lizzie had stood a little apart, looking rather frightened. In her
eyes Martin was a dignified and important person. But now she came
forward eagerly.

"Trouble," she repeated, "oh dear no, ma'am. Little Miss hasn't given me
one bit of trouble, and nothing but a pleasure 'twould have been, but
for thinking you'd all be put out so about her at home. But you'll let
her come again some day when she's passing, to see me and baby. She's
been so taken up with the baby, has Missy."

Martin hesitated. She wanted to be civil and kind--Mrs. Caryll had
expressly desired her to thank the cottager's wife for taking care of
the little truant, and Martin was by nature sensible and gentle, and not
the least inclined to give herself airs as if she thought herself better
than other people. But Hoodie's behaviour had quite upset her. She did
not feel at all ready to reply graciously to Lizzie's meek invitation.
So she stood still and hesitated. And seeing her hesitation, naughty
Hoodie darted forward and threw her arms round Lizzie's neck, hugging
and kissing her.

"I _sall_ come to see you, I will, I sall," she cried. "Never mind what
that naughty, ugly 'sing says. I _will_ come, dear little baby's
mother."

Martin was almost speechless with indignation. Poor Lizzie saw that she
was angry, yet she had not the heart to put away the child clinging to
her so affectionately, and David's words "perhaps her nurse is cross to
her at home," came back to her mind. Things might really have become
very uncomfortable indeed, but for Cross, the coachman, who unexpectedly
came to the rescue. He had been standing by, rather, to tell the
truth--now that the anxiety which he as well as the rest of the
household had felt, was relieved--enjoying the scene.

"Miss Hoodie's a rare one, to be sure," he said to himself, chuckling
quietly. But when he saw that Martin