How many hours must it be since she had had anything to eat? Her dinner? That had been only a mouthful or two, for her heart had been beating so with thoughts of her project that she had been unable to eat. Though she had intended to put some in her pocket, there had not been the opportunity, for she had feared that Evan's sharp eyes and sharper tongue would be sure to disclose her secret, should he notice her doing anything with her sandwiches but eat them.
How she wished that she had not crept away so stealthily when the rest were scattering after dinner. How ashamed she was now of the answer she had given Barbara, as she led Queenie off in the other direction.
"I'm just going over there, Barbara, to get some ferns!"
She had stoutly assured herself then that this was not an untruth; but now—
Poor little May! She was beginning to pay very dearly for her "enjoyment," as many another does who attempts to snatch what is not given!
Oh, how weary she was—how cold! How forlorn!
Thoughts of her mother began to fill her mind, and her conscience pricked her that, although she had carried out the letter of her mother's directions, she had broken the spirit of them.
She buried her face on her knees, and began to cry, and cried long and hopelessly, till she seemed to have no tears left. But at last, as she began to grow quieter, in a kind of resignation to meet her fate, sleep came down upon her heavy eyelids, and she forgot for a little while that she was lost.
[CHAPTER VII.]
VOICES IN THE FOREST.