"I am certain no doctor can do anything for me, and so I have told my father, and he quite understands I cannot be worried by a stranger. But there is no necessity for you and I to go into the matter, Felicia. Let us speak of something else. Have you been to the Vicarage to-day?"
"No; but Molly called me to join her in a walk this morning. We took Lion with us and went into the woods. The nuts are ripening, and there are such a quantity of blackberries. Do you know, I never saw blackberries growing before this year? Molly could hardly believe it. We met such a funny old man in the woods—Harry Budd, Molly called him; she spoke to him. Do you know him, Uncle Guy?"
"Oh, yes! He was a notorious poacher in years gone by."
"Was he?" exclaimed Felicia. "I should never have guessed that by the way he talked. Something was said about the gipsies, and he called them 'a thieving set.' How could he do that when he has been a poacher himself?"
"It is difficult to understand. He is a sly old fellow, I believe—judging from what I have heard my father say of him. But you were going to tell me about your mother, Felicia."
"Yes," she responded. She regarded him earnestly for a moment, then glanced away. "Do you really want to hear about her, Uncle Guy?" she questioned.
"Certainly. Did I not say so last night?"
"Yes. It—it would have been easier for me to have told you last night," she admitted.
"Why?"
"Because you were so gentle and kind then, and now you look so cross; and—and I heard you speaking sharply to grandfather just now; I wish you wouldn't, Uncle Guy, it makes him very sad."