han smiles and merriness. We all knew
her again, but Racey was the first to speak. He pulled himself out of my
arms--I didn't hold him back--and he rushed to the young lady and caught
hold of her almost as if she had been mother.

"Oh please, please take care of us," he cried, hiding his fair, curly
head in her black skirt, "we're lostened. Muzzie's done away, you know,
and we don't like being at London at all."

The young lady for half a moment looked perfectly puzzled. Then a light
broke over her face. She lifted Racey up in her arms, and pressing her
face against his in a sort of kissing way, just almost as mother herself
would have done, she came forward quite close to Tom and me, still on
the steps in the rain, and spoke to us.

"My poor little people," she said, "you must be quite wet. I know who
you are-- I remember. Come in--come in out of the cold, and tell me all
about it."

My first wish was just to beg her to tell us the way to Uncle Geoff's
house and to hurry off as fast as we could. I was beginning to be so
terribly frightened as to what would happen when we _did_ get back. But
her voice was so kind, and it was _so_ cold outside, and Racey was
clinging to her so--it looked, too, so warm and comfortable inside the
nice, bright house, that I could not help going in. Tom would have
pulled me in, I think, had I refused. He was still sobbing, but once we
got inside the hall he began fishing in his pocket till he got out his
handkerchief and scrubbed at his eyes before he would look up at the
young lady at all. _Nothing_ would take away Tom's dislike to be seen
crying.

"James," said the young lady, "open the library door."

James, who had become particularly meek--I suppose he was rather ashamed
of having taken us for little beggars, now that he saw the young lady
knew us--did as she told him. And still carrying Racey in her arms Miss
Goldy-hair (I think I told you that Tom and I called her that to
ourselves after the day she had been at our house?) led the way into the
library where she had been sitting when she was called to speak to the
message boy in the hall. For there were books and some pretty work on
the table, and a little tray with two or three cups and saucers and a
plate with cake--all very nice and neat-looking--the sort of way mother
had things at home. And the fire was burning brightly. It was a nice
room, though rather grave-looking, for there were books all round and
round the walls inst