"Stop one instant," I said. "Is the beautiful lady staying with the Good Americans?"
"Yes—she is a child of the forest like her brother. They met last night in the shack by the river and he told her of her boy. She is weary of cities where she lost her lovely voice."
"Is her voice gone?" I asked in dismay.
"Yes, the cruel war hunted her as the poachers hunted me. She wore her life out over the wounded and her voice was frightened away. Then she ran to her husband."
"White Phantom!" I exclaimed, "what are you telling me? Is the boy's father also in this wood?"
"Husband and wife are always together now," said the doe gently. "She would be afraid without him. Now she is coming—the beautiful lady. Don't you hear the trees whispering? They are pleased that her gown is the same color as theirs, and they call her the Green Lady. Take good care of yourself, Pony friend, and run often round the lake to see me. For your sake I will kill no more snakes," and she glided away accompanied by a faint rustling that meant the close following of the faithful hound Ravaud.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Quoted by permission of the publishers, J. M. Dent & Sons, Toronto.