quivered, and she could scarcely speak; but there was no loud wailing,
no passionate outburst. Her grandfather had impressed upon her that the
parting was for her own good, and child though she was, she felt how
great a sacrifice he was making in parting with her, and although she
could not keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, or silence her
sobs as she bade him goodbye, she tried hard to suppress her grief.

The pain of parting was, indeed, fully as great to Sergeant Wilks as to
his granddaughter; and it was with a very husky voice that he bade her
goodbye, and then, putting her into Mrs. Walsham's arms, walked hastily
away.

Aggie was soon at home. She and James very quickly became allies, and
the boy was ever ready to amuse her, often giving up his own plans to
take her for a walk to pick flowers in the hedgerow, or to sail a tiny
boat for her in the pools left as the sea retired. Mrs. Walsham found,
to her surprise, that the child gave little trouble. She was quiet and
painstaking during the half hours in the morning and afternoon when she
was in the school room, while at mealtimes her prattle and talk amused
both mother and son, and altogether she made the house brighter and
happier than it was before.

In two months the sergeant came round again. He did not bring his box
with him, having left it at his last halting place; telling James, who
happened to meet him as he came into Sidmouth, that he did not mean to
bring his show there again.

"It will be better for the child," he explained. "She has done with the
peep show now, and I do not want her to be any longer associated with
it."