“If you please, Mrs Benson,” said Philip, as the door opened and a comely, motherly young face appeared; “if you please, Mrs Benson, we lost our way in the wood—and—and—and—and oh, dear! oh, dear; what shall I do!” sobbed poor Philip, now out of his peril but thoroughly beaten, “what shall I do?” and then he sobbed and cried as though his heart would break, Fred helping him him to the best of his ability.
“Why, thee poor dear bairns!” said Mrs Benson; “come in, and sit thee down.—Why, one of ’em’s Squire Inglis’s Philip, John,” she continued to her husband, “and here they be ammost bet out.”
Mrs Benson could talk, but she could act as well, and she soon had the two lads upon the snug “keeping-room” sofa.
“Bless thou, my poor bairns!” she exclaimed; and then in a breath to her husband. “Thou’dst better send Tom over to the Grange, and tell them where the poor things are, or they’ll be frightened to death; and let him tell Mrs Inglis well drive them over as we go to market in the morning.”
So off packed Mr Benson to send the messenger, while his wife bustled the great red-armed maid about; and then with warm water and towels bathed the boys’ faces and hands, and brushed their hairs, as though she had done it every day since they were babies; while during all this time the red-armed maid had spread a cloth on one end of the table and tea-things on the other, while Farmer Benson, who had been taking his evening pipe and hot gin and water when the boys knocked at the door, now insisted upon their each taking a sip or two out of his glass. Directly after there was a steaming hot cup of tea before each visitor, with plenty of rich yellow cream in it, while Mrs Benson cut from a sweet-scented light-brown-crusted home-baked loaf slices which were as though made of honeycomb, and which she gilded over with the bright golden butter from her own snowy churn. Mr Benson; too, he could not be idle, so he cut two great wedges out of a raised pork pie, and placed in the boys’ plates—pie that looked all of a rich marble jelly, veined with snow-white fat, and so tempting after some hours’ ramble in the woods.
“I ham glad thou came, bairns,” said Mrs Benson, kissing her visitors in the most motherly way imaginable.
“Ay, lads, and so am I; but there, doan’t take on. Yeat, lads, yeat, and then ye’ll soon be all right again.”
And the boys choked down their sobs, and did “yeat” in a way that made their worthy host and hostess smile with pleasure, as well as to see the faces that a few minutes before looked so worn, pale, and wretched, brightening up under the treatment their complaint was receiving.
All at once Philip came to a stand-still, and said, “I wonder where Harry is?”
“What! was he out with thee?” said the farmer and his wife.