It was nearly a mile to the cottage, and Connie senior was well bored by Connie junior by the time the gamekeeper’s picturesque little home was in sight. The child was already as full to the brim with tricks as a little monkey, and so self-assured.

At the cottage the door stood open, and there was a rattling heard inside. Connie lingered, the child slipped her hand, and ran indoors.

“Gran! Gran!”

“Why, are yer back a’ready!”

The grandmother had been blackleading the stove, it was Saturday morning. She came to the door in her sacking apron, a blacklead-brush in her hand, and a black smudge on her nose. She was a little, rather dry woman.

“Why, whatever?” she said, hastily wiping her arm across her face as she saw Connie standing outside.

“Good morning!” said Connie. “She was crying, so I just brought her home.”