Christopher and Perk discussed fishing, rabbit-shooting and other manly topics while Jane skipped along in silence, her big eyes shining and her little mouth smiling at her thoughts.
“I shouldn’t be a single bit surprised to see some, even with Perk along,” she whispered to herself. “The books say they dance at night in the moonlight; but I am sure fairies must love the sunshine, it is so bright and goldy—just like themselves. And I should think they’d feel perfectly safe to dance in such an out-of-the-waysy place when most people are taking naps.”
The lane was very quiet and very beautiful. The sun shone down through the dancing leaves of the birch trees in flickering rays that might well have been the gleam of a fleeing fairy; the white tree trunks glimmered like pillars of silver. The silence was so great that to have it broken by the growl of a bear or, indeed, the snarl of a tiger, would not have been in the least astonishing or out of the way. But no such sound broke the summer stillness.
Indeed, it looked as if the children were to have the whole length of the deserted lane to themselves. They walked along the top of the bank, alert and watchful for any adventure, Christopher chattering as usual, Jane quiet and content.
“There ain’t much use in goin’ any farther,” said Jo Perkins at last. “There’s only one more turnin’, an’ that comes out into Pete Hull’s cow pasture. An’ this basket’s powerful heavy to lug so far. I say we help make it a bit lighter by disposin’ of some of the contents,” he added in a suggestive tone.
“Oh, Perk, please let us go just to the last turn, and then we’ll eat our lunch,” coaxed Jane.
So they walked on for another three minutes until a sudden sweep of the road showed them a broad space of golden sunshine and green grass. It was there that the poor rich man’s house was to have stood, tall and stately, with white columns and terraced gardens; alas, it was now only a pasture for cows.
The wide field with the cows lazily browsing gave the children a homely, comfortable sense of security. They felt that they had penetrated a mysterious wild and were back again in civilization. Jo Perkins had already begun to unpack the basket and Christopher was watching him with his soul—or more literally his stomach—in his eyes, when Jane’s attention was suddenly attracted by the flutter of something white down in the lane below them. She knelt on the edge of the bank and peered over, in breathless excitement. Was she to see a really-truly fairy at last?
What she did see surprised her so that she almost lost her balance and tumbled over the edge of the bank. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was seated on the roots of an old birch tree, her back against the clay bank, the yellow clay of which clung to her jacket when she leaned forward to catch Jane’s eye. But she did not get up.
“Oh, you blessed child!” she called. “Never was I so thankful to see any one in the whole of my life! I have sprained my ankle and cannot move a step. The fairies must have sent you! I began to think I should have to sit here forever and forever.”