By this time Hildegarde had recovered her composure. It was her fate, she reflected, to run into people, and be found in trees, and be caught playing "Sally Waters;" she could not help her fate. But her hair was all down her back, and she could help that. She began to knot it up quietly, but Gerald raised a cry of protest.
"What, oh what is she doing that for? Don't, Miss Hildegarde, please! I was just thinking how jolly it looked, let alone the chances for scalping."
"Thank you!" said Hildegarde, as she wound up the long locks and fastened them securely. "I have no fancy for playing Absalom all the way home. Have you hurt your foot, Phil?" for Phil was rubbing his ankle vigorously, and looking rather uncomfortable.
"I stumbled over Dropsy's nose," he said, ruefully. "When she fell down, her nose reached all the way round the tree, and tripped me up. I wish you would keep your nose in curl-papers, Dropsy."
Dropsy beat him affectionately, and helped rub his ankle. They were silent for a moment, being too comfortable to speak, each one thought to himself. The sunbeams flickered through the leaves; the pine needles, tossed into heaps by the hurrying feet, gave out their delicious fragrance; overhead the wind murmured low in the branches. It was a perfect time, and even Gerald felt the charm and was silent, throwing acorns at his sisters.
"Sing, Roger," said Bell, at length, softly. "Sing 'Robin Hood!'"
So Roger sang, in a noble baritone voice, that joyous song of the forest, and the woods rang to the chorus:
"So, though bold Robin's gone,
Yet his heart lives on,
And we drink to him with three times three."