oked at her with a peculiarly winning smile, and
took her very solid hand between her own tiny palms.

"Don't be cross, Pigott, dear," she said. "I didn't mean to frighten
you. I couldn't help going--I couldn't indeed; and then I stopped
talking to Mr. Fraser."

"There, there, I should just like to know who can be cross with you
when you put on those ways. Are your feet wet? Ah! I thought so. Run
on in and take them off."

"Won't that be just a little difficult?" and she was gone with a merry
laugh.

"There, sir, that's just like her, catching a body up like and
twisting what she says, till you don't know which is head and which is
heels. I'll be bound you found her down yonder;" and she nodded
towards the churchyard.

"Yes."

Pigott drew a little nearer, and spoke in a low voice.

"'Tis my belief, sir, that that child sees _things_; she is just the
oddest child I ever saw. There's nothing she likes better than to slip
out of a night, and to go to that there beastly churchyard, saving
your presence, for 'company,' as she calls it--nice sort of company,
indeed. And it is just the same way with storms. You remember that
dreadful gale a month ago, the one that took down the North Grove and
blew the spire off Rewtham Church. Well, just when it was at its
worst, and I was a-sitting and praying that the roof might keep over
our heads, I look round for Angela, and can't see her. 'Some of your
tricks again,' thinks I to myself; and just then up comes Mrs. Jakes
to say that Sam had seen little missy creeping down the tunnel walk. I
was that scared that I ran down, got hold of Sam, for Jakes said he
wouldn't go out with all them trees a-flying about in the air like
straws--no, not for a thousand pounds, and off we set after her." Here
Pigott paused to groan at the recollection of that walk.

"Well," said Mr. Fraser, who was rather interested--everything about
this queer child interested him; "where did you find her?"

"Well, sir, you know where the old wall runs out into the water,
before Caresfoot's Staff there? Well, at the end of it there's a post
sunk in, with a ring in it to tie boats to. Now, would you believe it?
out there at the end of the wall, and tied to the ring by a scarf
passed round her middle, was that dreadful child. She was standing
there, her back against the post, right in the teeth of the gale, with
the spray dashing over her, her arms stretched out before her, her hat
gone, her long hair standing