“Welcome, my dears,” she said at once. “I have been looking for you this long time.”
Her voice, though strange—in what way it was strange the children could not have told, for it seemed to come from far away, and yet it seemed to them that they had often heard it before—encouraged them to step forward.
“Good-morning,” Alix began, but then she hesitated. Was it morning, or evening, or night, or what? It was difficult to believe that only a few minutes ago they had been standing outside in the warm sunshine, with the soft spring breeze wafting among the fresh green leaves, and the birds singing overhead. That all seemed a dream. “I beg your pardon,” the little girl began again; “I don’t quite know what I should say, but thank you for speaking so kindly. How did you know we were coming?”
“I heard you,” replied the old woman. “I heard your little footsteps up to the gateway yesterday, and I knew you’d come again to-day.”
By this time Rafe had found his tongue too.
“Did you send the wren?” he said.
“Never mind about that just now,” she answered. “I’ve many a messenger; and what’s better still, I’ve quick eyes, and even quicker ears, for all that I’m so very old. I know what you want of me, and if you’re good children you shall not be disappointed. I’ve been getting ready for you in more ways than one.”
“Do you mean you’ve got stories to tell us?” exclaimed the children eagerly.
“Of course,” she replied, with a smile.
“I wouldn’t be much good if I hadn’t stories for you.”