Johnson did so. The hoofs of the forest pony clattered loudly on the cobble stones of the yard. Johnson led the pony to the entrance of a green lane which ran at the back of Silverbel. Here the little girl mounted. She jumped lightly into her seat. She was like a feather on the back of the forest pony. Johnson arranged her skirts according to her satisfaction, and, with her long legs dangling, her head erect, and the reins in her hands, she started forward. The basket was securely fastened; and the pony, well pleased at having a little exercise, for he had been in his stable for nearly two days, started off at a gentle canter.
Sibyl soon left Silverbel behind her. She cantered down the pretty country road, enjoying herself vastly.
“I am so glad I did it,” she thought; “it was brave of me. I will tell my ownest father when he comes back. I’ll tell him there was no one to go with me, and I had to do it in order to keep my promise, and he’ll understand. I’ll have to tell darling mother, too, to-night. She’ll be angry, for mother thinks it is good for me to bear the yoke in my youth, and she’ll be vexed with me for going alone, but I know she’ll forgive me afterward. Perhaps she’ll say afterward, ‘I’m sorry I forgot, but you did right, Sibyl, you did right.’ I am doing right, aren’t I, Lord Jesus?” and again she raised her eyes, confident and happy, to the evening sky.
The heat of the day was going over; it was now long past six o’clock. Presently she reached the small cottage where the sick boy lived. She there reined in her pony, and called aloud:
“Are you in, Mrs. Scott?”
A peevish-looking old woman wearing a bedgown, and with a cap with a large frill falling round her face, appeared in the rose-covered porch of the tiny cottage.
“Ah! it’s you, Missy, at last,” she said, and she trotted down as well as her lameness would let her to the gate. “Has you brought the apples?” she cried. “You are very late, Missy. Oh, I’m obligated, of course, and I thank you heartily, Miss. Will you wait for the basket, or shall I send it by Scott to-morrow?”
“You can send it to-morrow, please,” answered Sibyl.
“And you ain’t a-coming in? The lad’s expecting you.”