“I know he’d want me to tell now,” she thought. “It isn’t fair not to,” and in a moment she was telling her mother the story of the afternoon: her anger toward Polly, the first meeting with the mounted soldiers on the bridge, and the hungry runaway’s plea for help.
Mrs. Delfield listened in amazement.
“I had to tell, didn’t I, Mother?” and her mother promptly agreed.
“Of course you did, dear child; and I think Grandma and Dulcie must be told at once so that they may know the young man did not take the food. You did just right, Roxy,” and Mrs. Delfield smiled so approvingly that the little girl was no longer troubled, and went happily to bed with thoughts of all she would have to tell to Polly on the following day.
CHAPTER V
NEW ADVENTURES
Dulcie chuckled over the story of Roxy’s carrying the food to the runaway, and Grandma Miller was well pleased that her little granddaughter had realized the importance of telling what had really occurred; and Roxy was now eager to tell Polly, who she was sure suspected the truth about who had secured the food for the hungry soldier.
“Polly didn’t say anything about luncheon, but perhaps I’d better take something to eat in my basket?” Roxy suggested on the following morning, as she put on the wide-rimmed hat of rough straw, and went to the closet for the small covered basket that she often carried in her walks with Polly.
“Dar ain’ no col’ chicken, Missy,” Dulcie reminded her, “but I reckon I kin fin’ somt’in’ ter gib you,” and she took the basket and started for the pantry, and Roxy was confident the little basket would be well filled.
Roxy, basket in hand, trudged happily off across the pasture turning to wave a good-bye to Grandma Miller who stood on the side porch looking after her; a few minutes later the little girl was out of sight as she went down the slope toward the big sycamore.
A little cloud of yellow butterflies floated over her head and Roxy stopped to watch their wavering flight until they settled over a hedgerow of bittersweet. She had started in good season, and realized that she would reach the big sycamore long before Polly; so she lingered along her way, stopping to gather a bunch of the orange-colored blossoms of butterfly-weed, one of the most gorgeous of the wild flowers of Maryland.