“And you ought to be very thankful to her,” persisted Polly, “although you are such a grand young lady now.”

“Please to mind your own business,” said Hetty proudly; “you were engaged by Mrs. Rushton to dress me and not to give me lectures.”

Polly was astonished and aggrieved.  She did not know how Hetty had been goaded on the subject of her past life by Grant, and had fancied that as she had only a child to deal with she could say anything she chose quite freely.  But though Hetty was only nine, her experiences of the world had made her old beyond her years.  Polly only thought her a hard-hearted, haughty little wretch, too proud to be grateful to those who had been good to her.

“Far be it from me to think of lecturing you, Miss Hetty,” she said; “but mind, I tell you, pride always gets a fall.”

“Be silent!” cried Hetty, stamping her small foot imperiously; “if Mrs. Rushton knew of your impertinence she would send you away to-night.”

It was thus that poor Hetty already began to make enemies, while much requiring friends.

Next morning Mrs. Rushton and Hetty drove over to Wavertree to spend a few days at the Hall, and on the way the lady stopped at Mrs. Kane’s door in the village, and bade Hetty alight and go in to pay a visit to her old protectress.  With Grant’s taunts rankling in her memory and Polly’s reproaches fresh in her mind, Hetty got out of the carriage reluctantly and went up to the door with a slow step.

Mrs. Kane was busy over a tub in her little wash-house, and came out into the kitchen on hearing some one at the door.  She wore a print short-gown and petticoat, and a poky sun-bonnet; and her bare arms were reeking with soap-suds.  Hetty shrank from her a little, and could not realize that she had ever belonged to a person with such an appearance as this.

Poor Mrs. Kane looked at her young visitor with a stare of wonder, and could never have guessed it was Hetty had she not espied Mrs. Rushton’s face through the open doorway, nodding pleasantly at her from the carriage.

“Why, little miss, you’re never my little Hetty?” cried the good woman, wiping her hands in her apron.

“My name is Hetty Gray,” said the little girl, holding up her pretty head adorned with a handsome hat and feathers.

“And don’t you remember me, my darling?” said Mrs. Kane, extending her arms; “me that used to nurse you and take care of you like my own!  Oh, don’t go to say you forget all about your poor old mammy!”

Hetty hung her head.  “I don’t remember you at all,” she said in a low trembling voice.  Her pride was stung to the quick at the thought that she had belonged to this vulgar person.

“Well, well! you were only a baby, to be sure, when you were taken away from me.  But oh, my dear, I loved you like my own that went to heaven, so I did.  And my John, he loved you too.  Come in here till I show you the bed you used to sleep in; and always you would be happier if you had a jugful of flowers on the window-sill to look at, falling asleep and coming awake again in the morning.  To think of it being full five years ago, my pretty; and you turned into an elegant young lady in the time!”