les--an' there's no birds
a-singin'."

"Oh! but that 'ull come back," said Giles. "You can eat yer breakfast
now, Connie, an' then arter that we'll talk more about the country. You
_ain't_ goin' to work to-day--be you, Connie?"

"Oh no," said Connie; "I ha' lost that place, an' I dunno w'ere to find
another. But there's no hurry," she added, "and I like best now to be
along o' you."

Connie then ate her breakfast, and Giles lay with his eyes closed and a
smile of contentment on his face.

In the course of the morning there came an unlooked-for visitor.

A funny-looking, red-haired boy entered the room. Seeing Giles asleep,
he held up his finger warningly to Connie, and stealing on tiptoe until
he got opposite to her, he sat down on the floor.

"Wull, an' wottever do yer want?" asked Connie.

"Hush!" said the red-haired boy.

He pointed to Giles. This action on the part of a total stranger seemed
so absurd to Connie that she burst out laughing. The red-haired boy
never smiled. He continued to fix his round, light-blue eyes on her face
with imperturbable gravity.

"Wull," he exclaimed under his breath, "ef she ain't more of a
Cinderella than t' other! Oh, wouldn't the Prince give _her_ the glass
slipper! Poor, poor Cinderella at 'ome! _you've_ no chance now. Ain't
she jest lovely! I call her hangelic! My word! I could stare at that
'ere beauteous face for hiver."

As these thoughts crept up to the fertile brain of Pickles his lips
moved and he nodded his head, so that Connie really began to think he
was bewitched.

"Wottever do you want?" she whispered; and, fortunately for them both,
at that juncture Giles stirred and opened his eyes.

"That's right!" cried Pickles. "Now I can let off the safety-valve!"

He gave a sigh of relief.

"Whoever's he?" asked Giles, looking from the red-faced boy to Connie.
But before she had time to reply, Pickles sprang to his feet, made a
somersault up and down the room, then stood with his arms akimbo just in
front of Giles.

"I'm glad as you hintroduced the word 'he,' young un; hotherwise, from
the looks of yer both, you seems to liken me to a monster. Yer want to
know who's _he_? He's a boy--a full-grown human boy--something like
yerself, only not so flabby by a long chalk."

"But wot did you want? and wot's yer name, boy?" said Connie, who could
not help laughing again.

"Ah!" said Pickles, "now ye're comin' to the p'int o' bein' sensible,
young 'oman. I thought at