“You wouldn’t understand.... Oh, Easter, child, don’t stare at me like that! Aren’t you sorry?”
“I know how Chris got so wet,” Easter said slowly. “I pushed him into the ditch.”
Miss Radley drew back a little from Easter; then she put out her hand and laid it on the child’s arm.
“I expect it was only in fun ... you couldn’t know....”
“Can’t I play with him a bit? Is it catching?” Easter’s voice was still quite loud and matter-of-fact. “It’s rather dull and lonely for me.”
“For you!” Miss Radley echoed indignantly. “Don’t you understand? Don’t you care, you hard child? But you never did care for anybody but yourself.”
“Does Chris?”
“Yes, indeed he does. He’s always been a dear, kind boy. Easter, you must go home. I can’t stop to talk to you now. Try to think about other people a little....”
Miss Radley did not finish her sentence, for Easter had gone from her as silently as she had come. For a minute the governess sat quite still. Then she sighed and shivered, and went on with her letter.
Easter fled down the Denvers’ drive and out into the road, but she didn’t go home. She ran and ran till she could run no more, and dropping into a walk, turned downhill along a winding lane thickly bordered by trees so high that they almost met overhead, forming an arch. The light in this avenue was curiously lurid, for the trees were beeches, and though rapidly thinning, were still gorgeous in reds and yellows. The avenue led to a church in the next parish (Easter had run such a long way), and she had been there quite lately with Chris to a fruit and flower service in aid of the local hospital. Miss Radley had taken them both, and now Easter remembered there were very large vegetable marrows at the base of one of the pillars, and wondered if they were still there. She and Chris had sat next each other at that service, and during the sermon he had let her hold his knife. It had a corkscrew and a thing for taking stones out of horses’ hoofs, as well as blades, and all were very difficult to open. Chris was good about lending his things. And he never told of people. What did old Raddles mean when she called her hard? She did care for Chris, but she wasn’t going to say so to Raddles. Yet Raddles looked awfully sad. Supposing they had lost Chris, after all, and were afraid to say? Supposing she, Easter, got lost, now, to-day? This was a long, lonely, unfamiliar road, with such a queer light in it. Supposing it were enchanted and she couldn’t find her way back? Then she would be like all those sons she had heard about lately. Her heart began to beat very fast. Ah! somebody was coming up the road. She would ask her way. It would be dreadful to be lost.