“Oh, yes, mum. Sorry I ain’t got a chair to offer ye.”
“And oh, please, interesting boy,” begged Eedie, “may I talk to Babs?”
“Cer—tain—lee, pretty missie.—Babsie, sweet,” he added, “talk to this beautiful young lady.”
“There’s no charge for sittin’ on the grass, mum,” said Ransey the next minute.
And down sat Miss Scragley smiling.
The boy proceeded with the preparation of the meal in real gipsy fashion. He cooked fish, and he roasted potatoes. He hadn’t forgotten the salt either, nor a modicum of butter in a piece of paper, nor bread; and as he and Bob made a hearty dinner, he gave every now and then the sweetest of tit-bits to Babs.
Eedie and the child got on beautifully together.
“May I ask you a question or two, you most interesting boy?” said Miss Scragley.
“Oh, yes, if ye’re quite sure ye ain’t the gamekeeper’s wife. The keeper turned me out of the wood once. Bob warn’t there that day.”
“Well, I’m sure I’m not the gamekeeper’s wife. I am Miss Scragley of Scragley Hall.”