Just then, into our darkness a light seemed to flash. We both saw it together. I thought it might be the hotel, but Sir Lionel said he feared it was more probably the window of some remote cottage or charcoal-burner's hut.
We walked toward it, and that was what it was: a charcoal-burner's hut. Sir Lionel must have been disappointed, because he wanted to get me home, but I wasn't. I was in such a mood that I was not ready for the adventure to come to an end.
The next bit of the adventure was exactly suited to the New Forest, and we couldn't have experienced it anywhere else.
The hut was a tiny, wattled shed, and the light we'd seen came through the low, open doorway. It was the light of a fire and a candle; and there was a delicious aromatic smell of wood smoke in the air. Sir Lionel explained, as we walked up to the place, that some of these huts were hundreds of years old, remnants of the time when debtors and robbers and criminals of all sorts used to hide in the forest under the protection of the malfays. As he spoke, we almost stumbled over some obstacle in the dark, and he said that very likely it was the hearth of a vanished cottage. People had the right to leave the hearth if their house were torn down, to establish "cottage rights"; and there were a good many such, still scattered through the forest, even in the gardens of modern houses; for no one dared take them away.
The charcoal-burner was "at home," and receiving. He was engaged in cooking eggs and bacon for his supper, and if you could only guess how good they smelled! Nothing smells as nice as eggs and bacon when you are hungry, and we were ravenous.
Most things as old as that charcoal-burner are in museums; and his eyes were so close together it seemed as if they might run into one when he winked. Also, he was deaf, so we had to roar to him, before he could understand what had happened. When he did understand, though, he was a thorough trump, and said we could have his supper if we "would be pleased to eat it." Bread and cheese would do for him. And we might have tea, if we could take it without milk.
But there were three eggs, and three strips of bacon, so we insisted that we must share and share alike, or we would have nothing. I made the tea, in a battered tin pot which looked like an heirloom, and we all sat at an uncovered kitchen table together, though our host protested. It was fun; and the old thing told us weird tales of the forest which made me conscious that I have a spine and marrow, just as certain wild music does. His name is Purkess; he thinks he is descended from Purkess, the charcoal-burner who found the body of William Rufus; and his ancestors, some of whom were smugglers and poachers, have lived in the forest for a thousand years. He was so old that he could remember as a child hearing his old grandfather tell of the days of the wicked, illegal timber-selling in the forest for the building of warships. Just think, grand oaks, ash and thorn, trees stanch as English hearts, sold for the price of firewood!
I sat at the table, watching the firelight play on my ring, which I hadn't seen till we got into the hut; and it is beautiful. I shall enjoy having it, though only for a little while, and shall regard it as a trust for Ellaline.
The charcoal-burner assured us we needn't worry; he would put us on the way home, and give us landmarks which, after he'd guided us a certain distance, we couldn't miss even at night.
When we'd finished our eggs and bacon, our tea and chunks of dry bread, Sir Lionel laid a gold piece on the table. Blind as he was, the old man wasn't too blind to see that, and he simply beamed.