“No, mother.”
“I dare say that the trick that Martin played upon you has upset you,” commented Isabeau. “You ran the race, and then ran home thinking that something was wrong with us here. It was a mean trick, though done in sport. I shall speak to his mother about it. The boy goes too much with that naughty Colin.”
Jeanne started. The voice had said that it had called her on the uplands. Could it be that that was what Martin had heard?
If so, then it could not have been a dream. It had really happened. She found voice to protest timidly:
“Perhaps he did not mean to trick me, mother. Perhaps he really thought that he heard you calling me.”
“Pouf, child! How could he, when I did not call? There! a truce to the talk while I brew the posset. I hope that Catherine is not coming down with sickness.”
She hurried into the kitchen, while Jeanne, wondering greatly at what had taken place, took her little sister into the garden, and sat down under another tree.