"He's not in; he's out with the haymakers. Better tell me your business."
"No, thank you," Felicia responded; "I will call again. Will Mr. Renford be at home soon?"
"He'll be home in good time for dinner."
"In good time for dinner? Why, it must be nearly four o'clock!" cried Felicia, whose acquaintances had always dined in the middle of the day.
"It's past four," said the old man, smiling. "Seven's the dinner hour at the Priory. Now, come, my dear, what do you want of the master? Can't I do as well? What's your name—eh?"
But Felicia merely shook her head; and repeating that she would call again, she turned hastily away, and retraced her footsteps down the carriage drive into the high road.
By that time she was hot and panting, and sought about for some sheltered spot where she could sit down and rest. There was no shade in the high road, so she climbed a five-barred gate into a meadow, where the grass, which was starred with moon daisies, was not laid up for mowing. The meadow sloped towards a deep ditch, overgrown with hazel bushes, and into this ditch Felicia crept amongst the tall meadow-sweet and yellow irises. It was cool and shady there, a damp place in the winter, no doubt, but the drought of the last few weeks had dried it up, and the little girl sat down to rest, thinking what a charming spot she had discovered. She was very tired, worn out by excitement, in fact, and it was very comfortable in the ditch. The air was full of the pungent scent of meadow-sweet, and the drowsy hum of insects fell soothingly upon her ears. Her eyelids were heavy, so she closed them, and laid her head back upon the cool, green grass, and thus fell into a little doze from which she passed into a deep, firm sleep.
An hour went by—two hours—and still the child slept undisturbed; but at length a huge dog—a mastiff—leaped the gate from the road into the meadow, and, nose to the ground, made straight for the ditch. The next minute Felicia was awakened by a movement at her side, and opening her eyes, she was terribly shocked to see an enormous, yellowish-drab animal, with cruel-looking open jaws, from which lolled a great red tongue, standing over her. She dared not speak or move, fearing the creature would pounce upon her, for he looked so fierce, and the gaze of his light brown eyes was so appalling.
Thus the child and the dog regarded each other silently, immovably, for some minutes; then the latter began to slowly wag his tail, and bending his head he gently licked first the little girl's hands, next her cheek. Relieved to find him inclined to be friendly, she ventured to stroke his neck; whereupon he exhibited great delight, and lifting up his head, gave utterance to a deep bark. A moment later a man's voice responded, shouting: "Lion! Lion! where are you, old boy?"
Lion wagged his tail, looked expectant, and barked again.