which she had been accustomed all her
life, and Jessie missed it. Suddenly she felt very lonely and
forlorn. The world was so big and empty and silent, and her mother
so very, very far away. There seemed to be nobody left to see, or
care, or hear, no matter what happened.

But just at the moment when her tears were nearly brimming over, she
heard her grandfather say proudly, "Yes, this is Jessie, my little
grandchild, Lizzie's little girl," and turning her head she saw him
holding out his hand to her, and all was well once more.
With granp's big hand holding hers so closely she could not feel that
no one heard or cared, and the day looked all bright and sunny again.

She felt sorry when her grandfather mounted into the little cart to
drive home, and she almost wished she was going with him; but granny,
taking her by the hand, led her quickly down the street and into a
draper's shop.

Jessie felt rather shy when her grandmother led her in, for though
she had spent a lot of time looking at shop windows with her mother,
she had very seldom been inside one, and when she had gone in the
places had been so full of people always that no one had paid any
heed to her, which was what she liked. But here she and her
grandmother seemed to be almost the only customers that afternoon,
and all the assistants looked at them as they entered. They all
smiled, too, and most of them said, "Good-afternoon, Mrs. Dawson," in
a very friendly way, which only made Jessie feel even more
uncomfortable, for she realized suddenly that her boots were cracked,
and her hat very shabby, and that she had no gloves at all; and she
wished very much that they could get right away up to the far end of
the shop, where it seemed quite empty and quiet.

Mrs. Dawson apparently wished the same, for though she gave a smile
and a greeting to all, she walked sturdily through the shop, ignoring
the chairs pulled out for her by the polite shop-walker, and made
her way to the very end, where a pleasant-faced attendant stood
alone, rolling up ribbons in a leisurely way.

"Well, Mrs. Dawson," she said brightly, "you _are_ a stranger.
I hope you are well? And who is this little person? Not your
granddaughter, surely?"

"Yes, it is. This is Lizzie's little girl," said Mrs. Dawson, a
faint flush rising to her cheeks. "She is come to stay with us for a
good long spell."

"Well, the country air will do her good. She looks rather thin."

"She does," agreed