CHAPTER IV
THE GOSSIP
He slept long and deeply, for when he woke he felt rested. But he did not open his eyes. "It must be time for Mrs. Freg to shake me," he was thinking. "Until she does I'll just stay as I am and pretend it wasn't a dream, but real." For although he remembered very well all that had happened to him yesterday, he could not believe it was true.
So he lay still in his snug bed, wondering that Mrs. Freg's boys had left him so much of the bed-clothes. "How fine to have a little time to pretend a dream!" he said to himself. But Mrs. Freg did not come and did not come, until at last he opened his eyes, just in wonderment. "It must be six o'clock!"
When he saw where he was, and that the dream was true, his heart almost stood still for joy. He was indeed far away in the woods, safe and snug and warm in this bright house, and Mrs. Freg could never reach him here. And he would not go to tne canning factory that day, nor the next, nor the next, nor ever again. The new mother had said so. His happiness brought him up in bed wide awake, and then he got out. He had not learned to bound out yet, but that came.
The fire was burning merrily. All was in order, the beds made and pushed back against the wall, the hearth swept, and some clusters of bright red berries arranged above the fireplace. But where were Ivra and Helma?—Ivra had called her mother "Helma" last night, and so it was that Eric already called her and thought of her. There was not the tiniest sign of them.
Oh, but yes. There on the floor near the hearth lay a little brown sandal, one of its strings pulled out and making a curlycue on the floor. That must belong to Ivra. The fire, the red berries, and the little, worn sandal, seemed to be wishing Eric a good morning and a happy day. There was plenty of mush in the pot swinging over the fire, and on the table drawn up to it, a wooden spoon, a bowl, and a jug of rich cream. So they had not forgotten him. They had only let him sleep as long as he would. They must have stolen about like mice, getting breakfast, clearing up, and tidying the room; and then closed the door very softly behind them when they went out.
And wonder of wonders! After yesterday's Indian Summer, outside it was a wild winter day. Gusts of snow were hurling against all the windows of the house, and blowing a fine spray under the door. Eric with his face against a windowpane could see only as far as the evergreen hedge because the trees beyond were wreathed in whirling snowclouds. The dead flowers in the garden were hidden under the blowing snow. The little straight walk up to the door was lost in it, and the footprints Ivra and Helma must have made when they went away were hidden too.
Something red blew against the hedge. For a minute Eric thought it was a big bird. But it found the opening and came through, and then he saw it was a little old woman. She came briskly up to the house, a red cape blowing about her, sometimes right up over her head, for because of the jug she was carrying she could not hold it down. She walked in without stopping to knock and was as surprised to see Eric there as he was to see her. But she got over it at once.