CHAPTER XI.
LIZZIE REDEEMS HER DOLL AND HONORIA THROWS A STONE.
A broad terrace ran along the southern front of Tredinnis House.
It had once been decorated with leaden statues, but of these only the pedestals remained.
Honoria, perched on the terraced wall, with her legs dangling, was making imaginary casts with a trout-rod, when she heard footsteps.

A child came timidly round the angle of the big house--Lizzie Pezzack.
"Hullo! What do you want ?" "If you please, miss--" "Well ?" "If you please, miss--" "You've said that twice." Lizzie held out a grubby palm with a half-crown in it: "I wants my doll back, if you please, miss." "But you sold it." "I didn't mean to.

You took me so sudden." "I gave you ever so much more than it was worth.

Why, I don't believe it cost you three ha'pence!" "Tuppence," said Lizzie.
"Then you don't know when you're well off.

Go away." "'Tisn't that, miss--" "What is it, then ?" Lizzie broke into a flood of tears.
Honoria, the younger by a year or so, stood and eyed her scornfully; then turning on her heel marched into the house.
She was a just child.