Straightway he fashioned a natural flagon from a leaf of the wild grape vine that grew nearby, piercing the leaf with its own stem so that it formed a cup out of which a Druid might have quaffed ambrosia.
“There’s a cup,” he said. “I allers makes ’em that way when I wants a drink.” He filled it from the running water and held it up. Grace drank thirstily, and asked for more.
“And here is something for you,” she said with a smile, as she passed down some chocolates she had slipped into a small pocket of her riding habit.
“Say, is it Christmas, or Fourth of July?” gasped the urchin as he accepted them. “Thanks, lady.”
Grace again smiled down at him, and Prince, having dipped his muzzle into the cool water again, for very pleasure in having all he wanted, swung about and trotted on.
The distance was not long now, and Grace, noting the gathering clouds, was glad of it.
“I’m sure I don’t want to be caught in a storm,” she said. “This stuff shrinks so,” and she glanced down at her velvet skirt. “I wouldn’t have it made up again. I hope the storm doesn’t spoil Will’s ball game,”
She urged Prince to a faster pace, and, cantering along a quiet stretch of road, was soon at the house of Mr. Ford’s mother.
“Why Grace!” exclaimed the elderly lady, “I expected Will to come over. Your father said——”
“I know, grandma, but Will—well, he is wild about baseball, and I said I’d come for him.”