“And so am I, Master Lovel, if it’s a-worrying of you, dear. But there, the grandest silver can that ever was made ain’t worth fretting about. I expect it must have slipped into the bog, dear.”
“Good-by, Nancy,” said Phil in a sorrowful, polite little voice, and he went slowly back to where Rachel watched behind the oak tree.
[CHAPTER XIX.—A TENDER HEART.]
Phil’s heart was very low within him. During the last few days, ever since that terrible interview with his mother, he had built his hopes high. He had been almost sure that the tankard was waiting for him in the lady’s house in the forest, that he should find it there when he went to make inquiries, and then that he might bring it back to his mother and so remove the shadow from her brow.
“I never knew that mother could miss a thing Gabrielle had given her so very, very much,” thought the little boy. “But there’s no doubt at all she does miss it and that she’s fretting. Poor, dear mother! she’s not unkind to me. Oh, no, she’s never that except when she’s greatly vexed; but, all the same, I know she’s fretting; for those lines round her mouth have come out again, and even when she laughs and tries to be merry downstairs I see them. There’s no doubt at all that she’s fretting and is anxious. Poor mother! how I wish I could find the green lady of the forest and that she would give me the bag of gold which would satisfy mother’s heart.”
Phil walked very slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground. He was now startled to hear a voice addressing him, and looking up with a quick movement, he saw the lady who lived in the pretty little cottage coming to meet him. He was not particularly elated at sight of her; he had nothing in particular to say to her; for as Nancy had assured him that the tankard was not at the cottage, it was quite useless making further inquiries about it.
“What are you doing here, Philip?” asked the lady in a kind voice. She knew him at once, and coming up to him, took his hand and looked kindly into his face. “You are a long way from home. Have you lost yourself in this dear, beautiful forest a second time, little man?”
Then Phil remembered that if this lady of the forest meant nothing in particular to him she meant a great deal to Rachel. He could not forget how Rachel’s eyes had shone, how Rachel’s face had looked when she spoke about her. The color flew into his own pale little face, and he spoke with enthusiasm.
“I am glad I have met you,” he said, “even though I don’t know your name. Will you come for a walk with me now through the forest? Will you hold my hand and look at me while you speak? Will you walk with me, and will you turn your face to the right, always to the right, as you go?”
“You are a queer little boy,” said the lady, and she laughed, almost merrily. “But I have just taken a very long walk and am tired. You also look tired, Philip, and your face is much too white. Suppose we alter the programme and yet keep together for a little. Suppose you come into the cottage with me and have some tea, and Nancy makes some of her delicious griddle-cakes.”