missing your father, I know," continued Connie, "Somehow I'm
a-missing o' mine."

"Have you a father, Connie?" asked the little boy.

"Yus--that I 'ave," said Connie. "Not a great, grand gentleman like
yourn, but a father for all that."

"Is your father in London?" asked the boy.

"Oh yes," answered Connie, "and not far from 'ere, nayther."

"Then why aren't you with him?" asked Ronald.

"'Cos I can't be," replied Connie in a low whisper.

"Hush!" said Ronald.

Just then the door opened and Agnes came out. Mrs. Warren followed her.
Mrs. Warren wore her usual tight-fitting jacket, but on this occasion
Agnes carried a leather bag, which seemed to be stuffed so full that it
was with difficulty it could be kept shut.

Mrs. Warren addressed the two children.

"I'm goin' to lock you two in," she said, "an' you'd best go to bed.
There's a little bed made up in your room, Connie, for Ronald to sleep
in; and as you're a deal older than that sweet little boy, you'll nurse
him off to sleep, jest as though he wor your real brother. Arter he's
asleep you can go to bed yerself, for there's nothing like early hours
for beauty sleep. You yere me, Connie? You know wot to do?"

"Yus," answered Connie. Her voice was almost cheerful. She was so truly
glad that Mrs. Warren was going out. When she heard the key turning in
the lock, and knew that she and Ronald were locked in all alone, she
scarcely seemed to mind, so glad was she of Ronald's company. Neither
child spoke to the other until the retreating footsteps of Mrs. Warren
and Agnes ceased to sound on the stairs.

Then Connie went up to Ronald, and kneeling down by him put her arms
round him and kissed him.

"You're very pretty," said the little boy, "although you don't talk
like a lady. But that doesn't matter," he added, "for you've got a
lady's heart."

"I love you, Ronald," was Connie's answer.

Ronald now put his own arms round Connie's neck and kissed her once or
twice on her peach-like cheek, and then they both sat down on the floor
and were happy for a few minutes in each other's company. After that
Ronald began to speak. He told Connie about his father and about his
mother. He did not cry at all, as most children would have done, when he
spoke of those he loved so dearly.

"Mother's dead nearly a year now," he said. "It was waiting for father
that killed her. Father went out to a dreadful war in South Africa, and
we heard that he was killed. Mother wouldn't