CHAPTER XXVI THE GREEN LADY AND THE BROWN MAN
I stood stock still, scarcely daring to breathe. This was great news—that my boy would soon have both his parents—and there they were coming softly among the brakes that held out green inviting arms toward them.
The man was tall and slightly stooping, the woman much shorter and very slight. There was something about her that moved me strangely, though I could not see her face on account of the long veil wrapped about her head. Her figure was charming and the way in which she lifted her pretty hunting boots and put them down so as not to crush the brakes reminded me of her boy's care for every living thing.
She was all in green, as the doe had said. Even her dainty boots were green and a green stone flashed on the white hand clasping the veil.
What a picturesque lovely mother! I should have been sorry for the boy if his mother had not been a thoroughbred.
The man was not picturesque, but he was interesting. He was rather thin and careworn and had a crease in his forehead as if he were always puzzling over some difficult question.
"Fatigued in his chase for the dollar and old before his time," as Mr. Devering said.
He was a brown man—clothes, hair, skin—though his skin was not the deep brown of Mr. Devering's, but rather a pale tan laid on over white, showing he had only been living the out-door life for a short time.
His teeth were big and strong and very white I saw, when he smiled to encourage his wife, who was holding back at sight of me.