started so that she let her pinafore full of roses slip, and the
flowers all fell out on the ground. Then she dropped an humble
curtesy; and her mother rose and curtesied also, though she had not
recognized her guest as soon as Margary.

The poor little stranger fairly wept for joy. "Ah, you remember me,"
he said betwixt smiles and tears.

Then he entered the cottage, and while Margary and her mother got some
refreshment ready for him, he told his pitiful story.

His father was a Lindsay, and a very rich and noble gentleman. Some
little time before, he and his little son had journeyed to London,
with their coach-and-four. Business having detained him longer than he
had anticipated, and fearing his lady might be uneasy, he had sent his
son home in advance, in the coach, with his lackeys and attendants.
Everything had gone safely till after leaving this village. Some miles
beyond, they had been attacked by highwaymen and robbed. The servants
had either been taken prisoners or fled. The thieves had driven off
with the coach-and-four, and the poor little boy had crawled back to
the village.

Margary and her mother did all they could to comfort him. They
prepared some hot broth for him, and opened a bottle of cowslip wine.
Margary's mother gave him some clean clothes, which had belonged to
her son who had died. The little gentleman looked funny in the little
rustic's blue smock, but he was very comfortable. They fed the forlorn
little dog too, and washed him till his white hair looked fluffy and
silky again.