was there before me.

"Who are you?" she repeated, her expression friendly but firm.
" Oh, I--I'm a pilgrim," I said in desperation.

"A pilgrim!" echoed the little girl. She seemed struck,
and while she was struck I slipped past her and began
to walk quickly towards the door in the wall. "A pilgrim!"
said the little girl, again, keeping close beside me,
and looking me up and down attentively. "I don't like pilgrims.
Aren't they people who are always walking about, and have things
the matter with their feet? Have you got anything the matter
with your feet?"

"Certainly not," I replied indignantly, walking still faster.
"And they never wash, Miss Robinson says. You don't either, do you?"

"Not wash? Oh, I'm afraid you are a very badly brought-up
little girl--oh, leave me alone--I must run--"

"So must I," said the little girl, cheerfully, "for Miss Robinson
must be close behind us. She nearly had me just before I found you."
And she started running by my side.

The thought of Miss Robinson close behind us gave wings
to my feet, and, casting my dignity, of which, indeed, there was
but little left, to the winds, I fairly flew down the path.
The little girl was not to be outrun, and though she panted
and turned weird colours, kept by my side and even talked.
Oh, I was tired, tired in body and mind, tired by the different shocks