'No, I'm not a princess,' she said; 'but this is a private wood, and I cannot allow children to run wild all over it.'
'And mustn't we ever come here again?' asked Betty, with a grave face. 'We should be ever so careful, and we won't pick a flower if you'll only let us walk about. We've never seen a wood before, only read about one in our story-books; and children always go through woods in books without being stopped, unless it's an ogre or a giant that stops them.'
The lady did not speak for a minute, then she said,—
'How many are there of you?'
'Five with me; there's Molly and Douglas, and there's Bobby and Billy—I'm the odd one.'
'Why should you be the odd one?'
'Because Molly and Douglas are the eldest ones, and they always go together, and Bobby and Billy are the babies. Mother always calls them the babies, and I come in between, and I belong to no one. You see, in our games it's generally two and two; I always make everything odd, and Molly and Douglas are always having secrets, and that only leaves me the babies to play with, and they're only just four years old—much too small for me.'
'I suppose you have a doll or something to comfort yourself with? I remember I used to when I was a little girl.'
'I don't much like dolls,' said Betty, with a decided shake of her curly head; 'I like something really alive, something that moves by itself. There's a big sheepdog at our farm called Rough. I sometimes get hold of him for a game, but he likes Douglas better than me. Sam says he's always fond of boys.'
'Would you like to come inside my gate?' asked the lady, looking down upon Betty with a strange tenderness in her eyes, though her lips were still grave and stern.