In those weeks Mrs. Walsham frequently thought the matter over.  That the sergeant had plans for the child she could hardly doubt.  The child herself had told her that she knew of no other relations than her grandfather, and yet he could hardly intend to take her about with him, after placing her for two years in a comfortable home.  She was but seven years old now—­far too young to go out into a place as servant girl in a farm house.  She doubted not that the sergeant had expended the whole of his savings, and she thought him foolish in not having kept her with him for some little time longer, or, if he could not do that, he might have placed her with some honest people, who would have kept her for the sum he had paid until she was old enough to take a place as a nurse girl.

And yet, while she argued thus, Mrs. Walsham felt that the old showman had not acted without weighing the whole matter.  There must be something in it which she did not understand.  In fact, he had said so when he placed the child with her.

As the time approached, she became more worried at the thought of Aggie leaving her.  The little one had wound herself very closely round her heart.  The expense of keeping her was small indeed, the cost of her food next to nothing; while the extra girl, whom Mrs. Walsham had taken on when she first came, had been retained but a very short time, James’s constant companionship with her rendering the keeping of a nurse altogether unnecessary.

At last she made up her mind that she would offer to keep her on without pay.  She and James would miss her companionship sorely, and it could not be considered an extravagance, since the money she had received for her would pay for the cost of her keep for years to come.  When Mrs. Walsham’s mind was once made up, her only fear was that these mysterious plans of the sergeant would not allow him to leave Aggie with her.

Punctual to the day, Sergeant Wilks arrived, and after a little talk in the parlour, as usual, with James and Aggie present, he formally requested the favour of a conversation with Mrs. Walsham alone.

“Take Aggie for a walk, James.  Do not stay out above three quarters of an hour, as your tea will be ready for you then.”

“You must have wondered, ma’am, a good deal,” the sergeant began when they were alone, “why I, who get my living by travelling the country with a peep show, wished to place my grandchild in a position above her, and to have her taught to be a little lady.  It is time now that I should tell you.  Aggie is my granddaughter, but she is the granddaughter, too, of Squire Linthorne up at the Hall.”

“Bless me!” Mrs. Walsham ejaculated, too astonished for any further expression of her feelings.

“Yes, ma’am, she is the daughter of the squire’s son Herbert, who married my daughter Cissie.”