Almost without thinking Berry drew the silver whistle from her pocket and its sharp call sounded clearly through the silence of the woodland path, and came echoing back as if repeated by a dozen whistles, and instantly the crouching figure sprang upright and leaped toward the little girl, exclaiming:
“Don’, Missie! Fer de lawd sakes, don’ blow no whissel!” and Berry found herself clasped tightly by the thin arms of Lily, who whispered fearfully:
“Yo’ don’ know w’at a whissel might fotch, Missie. ’Deed yo’ don’!” and her big, frightened eyes stared at Berry as if they were both facing some great peril.
Berry pulled herself angrily away from the girl’s clutching fingers.
“Was it you who followed me all the way from home?” she demanded.
“Yas, Missie,” came the faltering response.
“And you were hiding behind that stump to follow me home, I suppose?” she continued.
“Yas, Missie,” replied Lily in a whisper.
Berry was now feeling herself a much abused person. To have Mollie, her only friend and playmate, disappear without a word of explanation or good-bye had been a bitter experience; to have felt herself pursued all along the forest trail by a possible enemy, and now to discover that she had been needlessly afraid because of this stupid negro girl, made her angry and resentful. Berry did not stop to ask why Lily had followed her, or to remember that the girl was still afraid of every sound, and felt herself safe only when near to the little girl who had befriended her, and angry words rushed to her lips.
“Don’t you dare follow me another step! I don’t want to see you again, ever!” she declared, and without another glance at the cowering figure, Berry hurried on up the trail. She no longer noticed the calls of the forest birds, or the sunshine that sent flickering shadows across the woodland path. Mollie was gone, she was sure she would never see her again, and that stupid negro girl had made her run all that distance down the ridge as if pursued by a mountain lion, she thought resentfully.