"I don't believe it a bit," she said. "I'll go and find father and ask him if its true; I know it isn't true."
"There's father coming into the field," said Boris. "Yes, it's true enough, but you can ask him."
"Well, my man," said the Squire, who came upon the scene at this moment, "your master has sent you for the colts, I suppose? Here they are, as——Why, what's the matter, Nell? How white you are, child, and—not so tight, Nell, not so tight, you're half strangling me! What is it, my love—what is it?"
"You haven't sold Robin and Joe, father?"
"Oh, now, my little girl"—the Squire began to pat Nell's trembling hands soothingly. He looked hard into her quivering face, then, bending down, whispered something in her ear.
No one else heard the words.
Nell's frantic grasp relaxed; she let her hands fall to her sides and looked piteously round.
Robin and Joe had both followed her across the paddock. Robin expected his russet apple—Joe looked for his canter with Nell on his back.
"There's a brave little girl," said her father. "'Pon my word, I wouldn't do it if I could help it."