Little Stars

I sniffed and dabbed at my eyes fiercely. I told myself I was only tearful because I was tired.

Could he be my Bertie, the cheeky butcher’s boy? I had walked out with him when I was a reluctant servant in Mr Buchanan’s household. Dear funny Bertie, who had been so self-conscious about reeking of meat. Bertie, the boy who had taken me to the fair and won me the little black-and-white china dog that was in my suitcase now, carefully wrapped in my nightgown to prevent any chips.

Bertie’s my name and flirting’s my game, I’ve an eye for every girl. Don’t give a fig! I have a little chat, then give ’em a pat,

I WOKE WITH a start, my head hurting, aching all over. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. Indeed, I felt so fuddled I didn’t even know who I was. Hetty Feather, Sapphire Battersea, Emerald Star? I had three names now.

Yes indeed,’ said Miss Gibson. ‘I’m starting to be very glad my last girl flounced off!’ I

She was trying to whisper, but she might as well have yelled under an echoing bridge.

You’ve got more courage in your little finger than most folks have in their entire bodies, my own child. I