Nannie gulped and jerked her head up. ‘Going away?’ she cried in a querulous voice. ‘No, no! you mustn’t go away.’ And then with an inquisitive look struggling with the fear in her eyes, ‘Where to?’ she said. ‘Where could you go to, dear?’

‘I’d go far away from here – to another kind of land’, said Fuchsia, ‘where people who didn’t know that I was the Lady Fuchsia would be surprised when I told them that I was; and they would treat me better and be more polite and do some homage sometimes. But I wouldn’t stop bringing home my leaves and shining pebbles and fungi from the woods, whatever they thought’.

‘You’d go away from me?’ said Nannie in such a melancholy voice that Fuchsia held her in her strong arms.

‘Don’t cry,’ she said. ‘It isn’t any good.’

Nannie turned her eyes up again and this time they were filled with the love she felt for her ‘child’. But even in the weakness of her compassion she felt that she should preserve her station and repeated: ‘Must you go into the dirty water, my own one, and tear your clothes just like you’ve always done, caution dear? Aren’t you big enough to go out only on nice days?’

‘I like the autumn weather,’ said Fuchsia very slowly. ‘So that’s why I go out to look at it.’

‘Can’t you see it from out of your window, precious?’ said Mrs Slagg. ‘Then you would keep warm at the same time, though what there is to stare at I don’t know; but there, I’m only a silly old thing.’

‘I know what I want to do, so don’t you think about it any more’, said Fuchsia. ‘I’m finding things out.’

‘You’re a wilful thing,’ said Mrs Slagg a little peevishly, ‘but I know much more than you think about all sorts of things. I do; yes, I do; but I’ll get you your tea at once. And you can have it by the fire, and I will bring the little boy in because he ought to be awake by now. Oh dear! there is so much to do. Oh, my weak heart, I wonder how long I will last.’

Her eyes, following Fuchsia’s, turned to the boulder around which a wet mark was spreading on the patchwork quilt.