She was not so merry as in the early morning; Nannette's song was forgotten; but in her graver face was an expression of determination. The poor children came again to her recollection, and she renewed her zeal.
On and on she went, sometimes nearly falling, but her staff maintained her, and prevented that. She climbed, she waded, she slipped, she scrambled. Sometimes on dizzy heights she looked down into chasms; then she would cross peaceful and lovely valleys; then the road would wind up to some high summit again, giving her pictures of mountain-peaks and clouds and all their many charms; and while on the crest of a high hill, with all the heavens in a glow, she saw the sun sink beneath the horizon, and knew that darkness would soon surround her. Hurriedly descending, her staff led her to a group of oak-trees, whose wide and shadowy boughs seemed to offer her the protection of which she was in need. Farther and farther sank the sun, leaving clouds of purple and gold to fade into the soft shades of twilight. The hush of evening fell upon nature; stars peeped out. Laura watched the waning light until, too tired to keep her eyes open, she laid her head upon her little knapsack, and was soon in a deep slumber. Whether or not wild beasts came prowling about, or owls hooted, or the night winds sighed in the tree-tops, Laura knew not; she slept as soundly and as safely as if in her own carefully watched nest in the castle. When she awoke, the sun was rising, birds were singing, and every blade of grass twinkled with dew-drops. After her morning prayer of thanks for the night's rest, a dip into the brook close by, and a little shake and jump by way of dressing, she sat down to her breakfast of oat-cake.
"SHE SAW A QUEER LITTLE FIGURE MAKING GRIMACES AT HER."
As she munched it in leisurely fashion, wishing for some honey, she thought she saw a queer little figure making grimaces at her. It was an odd little creature, with a rabbit-skin so thrown over him that she fancied it might, after all, be only a bunny out in search of breakfast.
"Good-morning, my dear, good-morning! So you wish you had some honey, do you?" said the queer little creature.
Laura laughed out in surprise. "How do you know?" she asked.
"How do I know anything, Miss Rudeness? By my wits, to be sure."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Laura, conscious at once of having offended; "but I did not know I had spoken aloud."
"Nor did I; we people of the woods do not wait to be spoken to—we are wiser than you. But do you really want some honey? If so, come with me and I will show you where you can find it."