Robin perched his saucy little head on one side, and looked at her with his bright twinkling eyes as though he quite understood what she said.
The snow had ceased falling, and the sky looked thick and yellow as though it were lined with cotton wool. Elsie felt cold and stiff, and her limbs ached--she felt she could not stay much longer in her snowy bed.
"Fly home, Robin, and tell gran'fer," she repeated, and Robin flew away.
Elsie sighed, and half wished she had not sent him. He was company, at any rate; she was tired of being alone. But gran'f'er would soon know, and come to fetch her home.
She tried to keep her eyes open to watch for his coming, but it was hard work, and oh! she was so tired! so tired! Would gran'fer never come? Perhaps he was so busy counting his money that he would never think of his little girl lying out there under the cruel snow!
At Castle Grim, in the old-fashioned kitchen, sat Nanny over the fire, shivering, but not with the cold, though it was cold enough.
Where could the child be? The soup was ready for the master as soon as he should come in, but the child, little Elsie, where was she? Presently a shuffling step outside was heard, and the miser came in. He was a curious looking figure, with scanty grey locks hanging over his stooping shoulders. His clothes were green with age, but well brushed and mended. He seated himself at the table, and looked round for his little grand-daughter.
"Where is Elsie?" he asked with a frown.
The old woman's voice trembled.
"She went out into the snow, and has not come back," she answered, putting her apron to her eyes; "and these old bones are not fit to go out to look for her."