Nothing could seem better than such an invitation, and Rose and Ruth were delighted.
“What luck, my singing that song! But I wish we could hear you sing some more, Fairy Honeysqueak.”
Honeysqueak laughed. “You absurd child, I haven’t any real voice at all. My companions make fun of me every time I try to train any young Hylas or grass-hopper for the spring music. But I’m a good teacher, voice or no voice, they have to admit that. But let’s be running along, dears, Marian is expecting you.”
They reached their two hands towards the voice the Fairy had been maligning, felt her own slip into their clasp, then that tiny sinking feeling and little shock ... and there they were!
They found themselves seated on a wooden bench, their backs up against the wall of a house, in front of them what looked like a public square, crowded with a merry throng in the picturesque garments of stage folk. The upper story of the house against which their bench was placed projected so as to make a pleasant shade, and between the moving throng they caught glimpses of a green on which games seemed to be in progress, while a group near them to the right was collected in front of a punch and judy show, the squeaky voices of the actors sounding funnily distinct above the general commotion.
“I’m so glad you could get here for the Fair,” said a young girl who was seated beside Rose, “and how fortunate we are to have so brave a day for it. Have you ever seen the wrestlers and the single stick exercises?” She bent nearer and whispered:
“It is almost certain that bold Robin and some of his merry outlaws will come for a trial with these village gabies—and then we shall see what we shall see.”
A bonny-looking girl she was, with a fair English skin and pale gold hair worn in heavy plaits that reached below her waist. She was dressed in a rose-coloured bodice and overskirt, prettily draped over a flowered petticoat, and her shoes had high red heels. She wore no hat, but the sun seemed to have no effect on her fairness. Her eyes were almost black, a strange contrast, and were laughing and mischievous in expression.
“So you are Maid Marian?” Rose stated, rather than asked. Ruth was lost in the puppet show, having got up to go a little closer, and Rose could see her grinning broadly at the witticisms Punch was uttering.
“See your sister, quite taken with the show,” returned Marian. “They are funny little creatures, to be sure. But let us push our way nearer the common, and so get a look at the lads there.”