Fortunately, Dr. Carlyon had not put his harrowing questions until they had passed the green and the houses, and were in the little hotel where they were to have dinner before going to interview Bessie. But his stern silence all the way had impressed Loveday more than any words could have done, and when at last he spoke, her poor little troubled heart could bear no more.
“O daddy,” she sobbed, “I only meaned to be very kind, and to make him happy ’cause he’d lost his son and was very unhappy, and we got up in the morning when we were so sleepy and tired we didn’t want to get up a bit, but it was to help him, and we wanted to make it all look nice, and we thought ’twas the piskies put the old straw there, but it was Mr. Winter did it—and how could we know? Of course we shouldn’t have done it if we had! And then Mr. Winter came out and caught us. Oh, ’twas ever so early, and he was so angry, he looked—oh, he looked as if he would eat us! and he said such dreadful things, and I told him all about it. I ’splained everything, but he doesn’t believe there are any fairies, and then he took us indoors and locked us in a room while he thought what he’d do with us, and I was ’fraid he’d heave us to cliff like we heaved the straw, but Aaron said he’d know better than do that ’cause he’d be hanged for it. Aaron talked a lot when we were locked in, and Mr. Winter wasn’t there, but he was nearly crying before. I don’t think much of Aaron, and I’ll—I’ll never like him any more! He said he reckoned Mr. Winter would turn them out of their cottage for what we had done, and ’twould be all my fault, and I told him he was a very bad, mean boy to say such things, and if he didn’t take care all that he ate would turn acid like it did to the wicked uncle in the Babes of the Wood, but all he said was that he wouldn’t mind that, if he could only get something to eat.”
“Well,” said her father, with a patient sigh, but holding his erring little daughter very close, “you seem to have had a pleasant ten minutes in your prison—but get on with your story.”
“Ten minutes!” cried Loveday, drawing back in her surprise to look up at his face; “ten hours more likely, daddy!”
“Oh! was it nearly night then when you came out?”
“Well, no—but it was quite breakfast-time when we got home.”
“I see—it seemed like ten hours.”
“Oh yes!” sighed Loveday, with a very sober shake of her curly head; “and it was such a dirty, horrid little room. I don’t think Mrs. Tucker can be a very clean person,” she added, in a grave confidential tone.
“Never mind Mrs. Tucker—get on with your story. I don’t suppose you were very clean either at that time in the morning!”
“Well—you see we always washed when we got up the second time. We were in too great a hurry the first time.”