"It looks delicious," said the old woman, stretching out a knotted hand and helping herself to a slice. "Yes, it's the best cake I ever tasted," she declared, smacking her lips approvingly.
Pitying Nannie's lonely, suffering condition, Lilian remained talking to her longer than she had intended, and when at last she said good-bye to her and left the cottage, she found it was snowing fast.
However, she set out in the direction of the schoolroom; but she had taken only a few steps across the green when a sudden gust of wind caught her, and it was all she could do to keep her feet; and when the gust had passed, she felt so confused that she could not tell which way she had been going. She walked on, and at last came to a full stop as she realised she had left the Green for the road, and had actually turned her back on the village.
"How stupid of me!" she thought in vexation. "The wind must have twisted me round. Well, all I've to do now is to go back. Why, here's the gateway leading to the pathfields! How Nellie and Rupert will laugh when I tell them how far I wandered out of my way."
Suddenly she heard men's footsteps coming towards her, and unknown voices. To whom could they belong? she wondered. She was not in the least timid, but she was rather shy, and it occurred to her that she might be asked to account for her presence there alone in the snowstorm; so she crept under the shelter of the hedge, and waited for the strangers to pass, shivering as she drew her shawl close around her shoulders.
"You're sure there'll only be the old fellow to deal with?" questioned a man's voice, in a hoarse whisper, as the footsteps drew near.
"Quite sure," was the answer. "The farmer and all his household are in the schoolroom with the rest of the parish. There'll be no one to interfere with our little game after we've settled with the old chap; he's feeble with age, and won't give us any trouble. We'll knock at the door, and old Jeffry—as I've learnt he's called—will open it, then I'll manage him, whilst you set to work and—"
Lilian lost the end of the sentence; but a second later the first voice remarked:
"There's a surly brute of a sheep-dog about the place, so we must be cautious. The farmer's considered stocky; I wonder if he keeps much money in the house."
The footsteps and voices died away as their owners, having passed Lilian unnoticed in the blinding snow, proceeded in the direction of Westhill.