For an instant she thought of appealing to this stranger's mercy.
The woman's eyes were hard, but not unkind. They scrutinised her
closely.

"You take my advice, an' get out o' this quick as you can."

The woman thumped down the tray, and made as if to leave the room with a
step decisive as her speech. At the door, however, she hesitated.

"Related to 'im?" she inquired.

"Eh?" Tilda was taken aback. "'Oo's 'im?"

"I 'eard you tell the Doctor you wanted to see 'im."

"An' so I do. But I'm no relation of 'is--on'y a friend."

"I was thinkin' so. Lawful born or come-by-chance, the child's a
little gentleman, an' different from the others. Blood al'ays comes
out, don't it?"

"I s'pose so."

Tilda, still perched on her chair, glanced out at the children in the
yard.

"You won't see 'im out there. He's in the shed at the end o' the
kitchen garden, cleanin' the boots. If you've got anything good to tell
'im, an' 'll promise not to be five minutes, I might give you a run
there while the Doctor's finishin' his dinner in his study. Fact is,"