He lay down on the path to digest the lesson, and his little friends fled, squealing, away.
The little girl slipped off the seat and said "Thank you," between two sobs.
Tinker's face was one bright, seraphic smile as he took off his hat, and, with an admirable bow, said, "May I take you to your people ?" The bullet-headed boy rose to his feet and staggered away.
"Uncle's still in that big house," said the little girl, striving bravely to check her sobs.
"That's a nuisance," said Tinker thoughtfully; "for we can't get at him." "I think he's forgotten all about me.

He often does," said the little girl, without any resentment; and she dusted the gravel off her frock.
"I might bolt in and remind him." "They won't let us in--only grown-ups," said the little girl.

"Uncle tried to get them to let me in; but they wouldn't." "They're used to letting me in," said Tinker--"and hauling me out again," he added.

"It brightens them up.

You tell me what he's like." Being a girl, the child was able to describe her uncle accurately: but when she had done, Tinker shook his head: "He must be just like a dozen other Englishmen in there," he said.
"And they wouldn't give me time to ask each one if he were your uncle." The little girl sighed, and said, "It doesn't matter, thank you," and, sitting down again on the seat, resumed her patient waiting, drooping forward with eyes rather dim.
Tinker studied her face, and his keen eye told him what was wrong.
"Have you had dejeuner ?" he said sharply.
"No-o-o," said the little girl reluctantly.
"Then you've had nothing since your coffee this morning ?" "No, but it doesn't matter.