by L. T. Meade
the boughs overhead. Wyn led thesober Dobbles slowly along the green walks, explaining, as he went,that, some underwood having been cut down, the pond was now for thefirst time approachable by the pony.
"So you've never seen it, sir, and it's uncommon pretty."
"Oh yes, I have, Wyn; I remember it quite well. Last time I was there Iwaded in after the lilies, and started a heron. He'd come over from theDuke's heronry. I can't think how Dobbles is to get there."
"Please, sir, he can; even Mr Robertson would say it was quite safesince they made the clearing."
If Edgar loved anything on earth, it was the wood; the great trees, thebirds and the squirrels, the ferns and the flowers, gave him realpleasure, and he never felt so nearly independent and, as he called it,locomotive, as when he was out in this way with no one but Wyn.
It was perhaps as well that Mr Robertson was not there to express anopinion on the nature of the ground over which Dobbles was taken; but atlast they came almost to the edge of the little woodland pond, and Edgarexclaimed with delight at the white and yellow lilies on its surface,the tall reeds round the edge. He raised himself up as much aspossible, and looked eagerly over it.
"Wyn," he cried, "there are all sorts of treasures on the oppositebank--real yellow loose-strife and rosebay willow herb. That's notcommon cream and codlins. There's none of it about elsewhere in thewood. And all sorts of flowering grass. Go round and get a great bunchof whatever you can see--I'll wait here; give me the rein--but Dobblesknows his duty."
Wyn ran off and plunged into the brushwood. He had been trained to havekeen eyes, and he had soon collected a large bunch of reeds and flowers.Dobbles and his master were quite out of sight, and Wyn had got to theother side of the pond, among a mass of ferns and brambles not likely toyield much out of the common, when he heard a rustling and saw a tallman standing on the little track beyond him, with his back turned. Wynwas a keeper's son, and as soon as he perceived that the man was astranger he at once jumped to the conclusion that he was after no good,and that he, Mr Edgar's only protector, had left him alone at somedistance. And, though Mr Edgar was only game in the sense that nothingwould frighten him, he had a watch and a purse, and was of courseperfectly defenceless. As he prepared to hurry back to him the manturned, showing a sunburnt face and a long yellowish beard. He lookedat Wyn.
"I say, boy, do you belong to these parts?" he said.
"Yes," said Wyn, "do you? For this wood ain't open to the public."
"Do you happen to know if Mr Edgar Cunningham's at home just now?"
"What do you want of him?" said Wyn.
"Well, I want you to give him this note if you could see him by himselfany time. Here's a shilling."
"No, thank ye," said Wyn. "I can give my master a note; but this wood_ain't_ open to the public, and you'd best turn to the left, and go outby the stile."
"All right," said the stranger. "I've missed my way."
He turned to the left and walked off, and Wyn hurried back to hismaster, relieved to see Dobbles exactly where he had left him, and MrEdgar lying, looking up at the trees overhead, evidently perfectly safeand undisturbed.
"Oh, please, sir," said Wyn, "here are the flowers. But please, sir,we'd best go home. There's characters about, and--why--wherever can itbe?"
"Why, what's the matter? You look quite scared. What's missing?"
"Please, sir, I met a chap as I don't think had any business there, andhe gave me a note for you, and, sir, I can't find it nowhere. I had itin my hand, and I must have dropped it."
"I suppose it was one of the men from Ashwood or Raby," said Edgar,mentioning two places in the neighbourhood. "Very careless of you, Wyn,to lose the note, and very silly to get a scare about it. Well," aftersome time spent in searching, "we must get back now, and to-morrow, ifit's fine, I'll come here again, and you can have a hunt for it."
Wyn was so upset, or, as he would have expressed it, "put about," by thesight of the stranger, the loss of the note, and by Mr Edgar's rarereproof, that he quite forgot at the moment either to realise to himselfor to tell his master that the man could have been no one from theneighbourhood, since he had asked if Mr Edgar was at home, whicheveryone knew was invariably the case.
CHAPTER TEN.
FLORENCE'S DUTY.
On the same afternoon that Wyn and his master went to see the water-lilypond, Florrie Whittaker, seized with a fit of impatience, went offwithout leave for a ramble in the wood.
She didn't think she could bear it much longer. There was no one tochatter to, there was no one to chatter about. Mrs Lee's shop was farmore lively than Mrs Warren's parlour, and Carrie and Ada were muchmore congenial than Grace Elton. Florence, lazy and sociable, had madea strong effort to strike up a friendship with that pretty, pleasantgirl, but Grace, as Florence put it, was "_that_ particular," and sooften blushed and said, "Mother wouldn't like it," when Florence'sill-trained tongue went its natural way, that Florence would have beenquite disgusted with her but for the thought that "Miss Geraldine"wouldn't like it either. Florence had once begun to astonish Grace withthe history of how she had run after the boys down to the canal, and hadthen stopped with an odd new feeling that she wouldn't like MissGeraldine to know she had done _that_. Should she write home and sayshe would be a good girl, and go into any business Father and AuntStroud wished, knowing that some sort of fun could be got out of life atRapley; or should she wait and let Aunt Charlotte "comb her down," asshe vigorously put it, till she thought her fit for a place at Ashcroftor at "The Duke's?" That implied lilac cotton gowns in the week and aneat bonnet on Sundays; but then she had heard of servants' dances andparties, and the great household wouldn't be _very_ dull, surely.Florence strolled on, thinking of one thing and another, swinging herhat in her hand, and now and then snatching at a foxglove or a bit ofhoneysuckle, till she suddenly became aware that she had lost her way.She stopped and looked round her. Which little green track would takeher home? There was a good deal of undergrowth in the part of the woodto which she had wandered, and, so far as she knew, she might be milesfrom any outlet but the one by which she had come. The great treesarched over her head, the green solemn light was all around her. Thetap of a woodpecker, the coo of a wood-pigeon or the whir of its wing,the soft indefinite murmur of the leaves, were all the sounds that brokethe stillness of the August wood. If Florence had lost her way in atown she would have asked it of a policeman with perfect composure. Nocrowd of passengers, no bustle of life, would have impressed her in theleast, but this stillness and silence and loneliness struck on herunaccustomed nerves, and an unaccountable fear _took_ possession of her.What was there to be afraid of?
Snakes and water-rats were the only definite objects of terror thatoccurred to her; and, as she had never seen a specimen of either ofthese animals, they were not very present to her imagination. She didnot know what she was afraid of, but for the first time in her life sheknew what fear was. She stood quite still at the turn of the littlefoot track, suddenly afraid to go to the right or the left; her heartbeat, her breath came in gasps, tears filled her eyes, and she burst outcrying like a baby--she, who never cried except from bad temper ortoothache, cried with fear.
Suddenly a rapid, light step ran down the track, and GeraldineCunningham, in her blue cotton frock, and a basket in her hand, cameinto view.
"Why! Florence Whittaker! What's the matter?"
"I've--I've lost my way, Miss; I can't get out!" sobbed Florence, stilltoo much scared to be ashamed of her fright.
"Lost your way! Dear me, you're standing in the way back to Warren'slodge. Come, don't cry, I'll show you."
"Oh, thank you, Miss," said Florence with unwonted meekness, and wipingher eyes. Then, recovering a little, "I'm a great silly, but the treesis so tall, and there ain't nobody about."
"Why, that's the beauty of it," said Geraldine. "One couldn't run aboutin the wood if there _was_ anybody about. But it's just like thegarden, nobody ever comes here."
As Geraldine sai
d this in her clear, outspoken voice, a tall man cameinto view along the opposite track: he was dark and slight, and dressedin a rough suit that might have belonged to anyone, gentle or simple, ina country place.
"We'll go on," whispered Geraldine, straightening herself up, and takingFlorence by the hand.
The man came up to the two girls and looked at them rather keenly; thenhe touched his hat, and said: "Excuse me, young ladies, can you tell methe way out of the wood?"
"Yes," said Geraldine, with her straightforward
