Then, one day he suddenly heard an unwonted noise proceed from a corner of the copse. An owl was hooting intermittently; every now and then there came a pause, and then the cry would be sent forth again. Now, though the bats had been circling about for some time, it was as yet a little early for an owl to be abroad; and, struck by a sudden thought, Robert set off running in the direction whence the sound proceeded, imitating the call to the best of his ability. As he expected, he found Rebecca standing with her hands curved round her mouth, sending forth the eerie cry. Her back was towards him, and it was not until the ground vibrated beneath his rapid advance, that she perceived his advent.
“Dear, to be sure, how you did frighten me!” she cried, turning round with a little spring of terror.
“Did I?” said he. “You know you told me you often hooted to the owls and they answered ye back. I thought I’d answer ye—I thought I’d coom.”
She did not speak, though he stood towering over her expectantly.
“Now I’m here must I bide?” he inquired.
“E-es, if you’ve a mind to.”
He thrust his hands into his pocket and drew out a cluster of half-ripened nuts.
“Ye can bite into ’em,” he said; “they’ll not hurt your teeth.”
Then he dived into his other pocket and held something towards her cautiously; curled up in his brown palm was a very small dormouse, sound asleep.
“’Tis for you,” he remarked briefly, “I’ve been carrying it about three days and more, knowin’ as you’d a likin’ for such things. ’Tis a mercy I’ve lit on ye at last, else it ’ud maybe be dead.”