"Good morning, Polly!" Ned said, and walked on. He dreaded speech with
any one. Polly saw his intention and hesitated; then she said:

"Good morning, Master Ned! One moment, please, sir."

Ned paused irresolutely.

"Please don't say anything," he began.

"No, sir, I am not a-going to--at least--" and then she hesitated, and
lifted up the child, who was about four years old, a soft eyed, brown
haired little maiden.

"It's little Jenny," she said; "you know sir, you know;" and she looked
meaningly at the child as the tears stood in her eyes.

Ned understood at once.

"What!" he said; "was it her? I did not know; I had not heard."

"Yes, sir; she and all of us owe her life to him. Feyther wanted to come
down to you, but I said better not yet awhile, you would understand."

"How did it happen?" Ned said, feeling that here at least his wound
would be touched with no rough hand.

"She went down to the town with Jarge, who was going to fetch some
things I wanted. He left her looking in at a shop window while he went
inside. They were some time serving him as there were other people in
the shop. Jenny got tired, as she says, of waiting, and seeing some
pictures in a window on the other side of the street started to run
across, and her foot slipped, and--and--"

"I know," Ned said. "I am glad you have told me, Polly. I am glad it
was some one one knows something about. Don't say anything more now, I
cannot bear it."

"I understand, sir," the girl said gently. "God bless you!"

Ned nodded. He could not trust himself to speak, and turning he passed
on with Charlie through the village, while Mary Powlett, with the child
still in her arms, stood looking sorrowfully after him as long as he was
in sight.

"So thou'st seen the boy?" Luke said, when on his return from work Polly
told him what had happened. "Thou told's him, oi hope, how we all felt
about it, and how grateful we was?"

"I didn't say much, feyther, he could not bear it; just a word or two;
if I had said more he would have broken out crying, and so should I."

"Thou hast cried enoo, lass, the last ten days. Thou hast done nowt but
cry," Luke said kindly, "and oi felt sore inclined to join thee. Oi
ha' had hard work to keep back the tears, old though oi be, and oi a
cropper."

"You are just as soft hearted as I am, feyther, every bit, so don't
pretend you are not;" and indeed upon the previous day Luke Marner had
broken down even more completely than Ma