Sooner or later, she turned up again--or somebody brought her back--or one of the sheep-dogs found her asleep under a bush, and gave the alarm.

"What goes on in that child's head," said the driver, regarding Jicks with a sort of superstitious admiration, "the Lord only knows.

She has a will of her own, and a way of her own.

She _is_ a child; and she _aint_ a child.

At three years of age, she's a riddle none of us can guess.