"They call me Res Wendot," answered the lad; "generally Wendot at home
here. This is Griffeth, my youngest brother. Those are not hard names,
are they?"

"No, not very. And how old are you, Wendot?"

"I am fifteen."

"Oh, how big you are!" said the little lady, opening her eyes wide; "I
thought you must be much older than that. I am twelve, and you can lift
me up in your arms. But then I always was so little -- they all say so."

"Yet you travel about with your father," said Wendot.

"I never did before; but this time I begged, and he took me. Sometimes
he says he shall have to put me in a nunnery, because he has nobody to
take care of me when he has to travel about. But I don't think I should
like that; I would rather stay here."

Wendot and Griffeth laughed; but the child was not at all disconcerted.
She was remarkably self possessed for her years, even if she was small
of stature and infantile in appearance.

"What is your name?" asked Wendot; and the little maid answered, with
becoming gravity and importance:

"I am called Lady Gertrude Cherleton; but you may call me Gertrude if
you like, because you are kind and I like you. Are there any more of
you? Have you any sisters?"