“Small need,” said Ladybird, who was already uncoiling a long bit of string.
Tying a bunch of twigs to the end of it, she carefully let the string down through the branches of the old apple-tree.
“Tie the basket on, Matthew,” she called, and the old man, mumbling, “It’s as much as me place is worth,” tied the basket firmly to the string and started it on its ascending course.
After safely passing several dangerous obstacles in the way of knots and twigs, the savory basket-load reached Ladybird, and she gleefully examined the contents.
“It seems to me,” she said reflectively, “that Bridget is a duck—a big fat duck.”
“She is that, miss,” said Matthew, agreeably.
The conversation flagged then, for Ladybird was busily engaged; and Matthew was bewildered, and quite uncertain what course to pursue. He could not see the child, though between the thickly leaved branches he could catch glimpses of her red frock at the very top of the tree.
Presently he heard her voice again.
“Matthew, there’s no use of your staying there; you’ll get rheumatism. You may go now. I shall stay here. There is no message for my aunts. Good night.”
“Oh, miss, don’t be foolish now; come down; let me take ye to the house.”