'Mam--ma! Ma--ma!' cried the little girl, as she caught the word.

Mrs. Millar fairly broke down at this, and sobbed and cried as much as
the child.

'Come, my lass,' said her husband, 'cheer up! Thee'll make her worse, if
thee takes on so.'

But Mrs. Millar could do nothing but cry. 'Just think if it was our
Polly!' was all that she could say. 'Oh, Jem, just think if it was our
Polly that was calling for me!'

My grandfather took the child from her, and put her on my knee. 'Now,
Mary,' he said, 'get us a bit of fire and something to eat, there's a
good woman! The child's cold and hungered, and we're much about the same
ourselves.'

Mrs. Millar bustled about the house, and soon lighted a blazing fire;
then she ran in next door to see if her children, whom she had left with
a little servant girl, were all right, and she brought back with her
some cold meat for our breakfast.

I sat down on a stool before the fire, with the child on my knee. She
seemed to be about two years old, a strong, healthy little thing. She
had stopped crying now, and did not seem to be afraid of me; but
whenever any of the others came near she hid her face in my shoulder.

Mrs. Millar brought her a basin of bread and milk, and she let me feed
her.