"Perhaps they were," he admitted.
"Oo! nasty things! Tell me some more."
"At last the dawn began to come, and I was very cold and stiff and wet. I heard a dog bark, and I thought, 'There must be people somewhere; I'll try to follow the sound.' So, somehow, I found my way to the mountain's foot, and I came to a stony track between the hills, and when I had walked a little way I saw a house—a low white house—and there, sitting beside the garden wall, was a boy."
"How old?" Theresa whispered.
"He is fifteen."
"Almost a grown-up person," Theresa thought, and aloud she said again, "Go on."
He obeyed, looking into the eager eyes which stared into his own. Her fingers twitched on his knee, and she was still gazing when his tale was ended.
"Tell me about that boy again," she said. "I don't suppose I should be afraid of geese either when I got used to them, should I?"
He was quite ready to agree that she could do anything.
She sat on his knee. "Is he clever?"