Polly broke into a smothered wail.

"Oh, I did love him so--I did!" she cried. "I'd have let him walk over
me. I'd have let him kill me."

"'E nearly did it," said Glad.

"'E went away sudden an' she's never 'eard word of 'im since."

From under Polly's face-hiding arm came broken words.

"I couldn't tell my mother. I did not know how. I was too frightened
and ashamed. Now it's too late. I shall never see my mother again, and
it seems as if all the lambs and primroses in the world was dead. Oh,
they're dead--they're dead--and I wish I was, too!"

Glad's eyes winked rapidly and she gave a hoarse little cough to clear
her throat. Her arms still clasping her knees, she hitched herself
closer to the girl and gave her a nudge with her elbow.

"Buck up, Polly," she said, "we ain't none of us finished yet. Look at
us now--sittin' by our own fire with bread and puddin' inside us--an'
think wot we was this mornin'. Who knows wot we'll 'ave this time
to-morrer."

Then she stopped and looked with a wide grin at Antony Dart.

"Ow did I come 'ere?" she said.

"Yes," he answered, "how did you come here?"