"I never thought of that before," I said, "but I suppose it is true. Where is the boy's mother now?"
"Down by the river, but she is coming this way. She is slipping behind the tree trunks. She is hoping to see her son before he sees her."
"I dread the shock for him," I said, anxiously gazing toward the sleeping boy.
"The shock will not hurt him, Prince Pony, for it will be all joy. Her shock will be partly pain."
"But, but," I stammered, "she is his mother—he is her son."
"They have lived apart, Pony. She allowed her old aunt to coax her away from her boy."
"How do you know all this?" I asked wonderingly.
"Creatures of the wildwood are not shut off from knowledge of human beings. Birds of the air carry news, and do I not go into the house and eat bread from my master's table? Then your boy's uncle loves my master and often they sit by the river for hours talking of things that are in their minds while I am hidden in the willows nearby."
"I didn't think the warden was a talker," I said.
"Dentais does not talk to the world, but only to his friend Mr. Devering, who once saved his life in a bad storm on a distant lake."