She came close to Phyllis and looked earnestly into her face.
Susie was a very pretty little girl; she had bright black eyes and a quantity of curling black hair, and her cheeks were rosy like the soft bloom of a peach, and her lips when she opened them showed pearly-white teeth.
Phyllis looked right down into Susie’s black eyes, and something in her heart stirred, so that the colour suffused her face, and she had difficulty in keeping back her tears.
“You are the Rectory children,” she said; “please tell me what your surname is.”
“Hilchester,” said Ralph, without a moment’s hesitation. “Oh! you will like father so much, Phyllis.”
“And mother too,” cried Rosie.
“Well, I tell you what it is,” cried Phyllis. “I am going with you as far as ever you’ll take me. Take me to the wildest and highest place in this neighbourhood, then I’ll get off my pony and run; I want to run for bare life; I want to feel wild and free; I want to forget that I’m the Squire’s little daughter, and that I’ve lots of money and grand dresses. I want to be, oh, shabby! oh, wild! dancing, joyful, just as if I hadn’t a care in the world.”
“Let’s do it,” cried Susie. “I know how; I know where. We’ll take her to the Friar’s Mount, won’t we, Ralph? Oh, you may ride, pretty little Phyllis, but I don’t think your pony can take you faster than we can run, and when we get to the Friar’s Mount you’ll know what freedom means.”
“I should just think so,” cried Phyllis. “I felt in prison until I saw you all, and now I’m so happy.”
She touched Bob’s neck with her whip, and soon she was cantering down the village street, the Rectory children following at her heels.