"What's your name?"

"Robert--Robert Stonehouse."

"Where do you come from?"

He had jerked his head vaguely in the direction of the hill, for he did
not want her to know.

"Over there."

"Why are you crying?"

"I--I don't know."

"Would you like to play with us?"

"Yes--I--I think I would."

She had called the other children and they had come at once and stood
round her, gazing wide-eyed at him, not critically or unkindly, but
like puppies considering a new companion. The girl in the green serge
frock had taken him by the hand.

"This is a friend of mine, Robert Stonehouse. He's going to play with
us. Tag--Robert!"

And she had tapped him on the arm and was off like a young deer.