'Now look here,' replies Paul. 'Do you know, you might have fallen over.
It is very dangerous to go so near the edge. If I get you the flowers,
promise me you will go away,'--no answer--so he puts her down, he picks
the flowers, and gravely hands them to her.

'Sank lou,' she says, taking them in her little fat hand, 'sank lou, but
I could have gottened them meself.'

Paul smiles, wondering who she reminds him of.

'What's lour name?' she asks suddenly.

'Paul,' he replies, promptly, 'what is yours, and who are you with?'

'I doesn't know what's my name is,' she answers, gravely, 'Mummy always
calls me Baby, I'm wif Mummy. Does lou know Mummy?'

'I do not think I have that pleasure,' says he, 'but I should like to
speak to her,' thinking to reprove her for her carelessness in letting
the child wander about so far away.

'Vis way,' says the little girl catching hold of his hand, and turning
down a path among the tombstones, 'Mummy always comes to a little tiny
grave.'

Paul goes with her, wondering why he does so. When, why is it? that she
is taking him to the grave of his.... And, good heavens! the person the
child calls 'Mummy' is kneeling beside it, her head bent, apparently not
hearing their approach.