Harebell screamed with delight over the chair, but puzzled over the letters.
Tom at length enlightened her.
"I'm not a very good scholar, and my tools be not fine enough to carve words, but I've put the first letter, see?"
"From Tom Triggs
A black sheep
Inside the Door."
"That do describe me, by God's help."
"Oh, it's beautiful!" exclaimed Harebell. "And so clever! I am sure Aunt Diana will let me have it, and I do adore a thing that rocks! It will be much nicer than a rocking-horse. I used to have one of those in India."
Tom promised to bring it up that night; and Harebell was overwhelming in her thanks.
At last she had to leave her friends, and she trotted home. It seemed to her that it was not chance that made her meet the Squire of the neighbourhood riding home from a hunt, with two other gentlemen with him. It was too good an opportunity to be lost.
Harebell had often seen the Squire in church, and had spoken to him once when he had been calling upon her uncle. She now stepped into the middle of the road and held up her hand authoritatively.
The Squire reined up his horse with a good-natured laugh.