He waved the pretty thing in his hand as he spoke. Strange to say, it gave out no sound. The cousins looked at it curiously. The queer incident impressed them afresh, and Michael hesitated in his reply.
"There is no tricking of us in it," he murmured. Then he turned to Giles.
"You may as well give it to me," he said. "I'll think it over and let you know before next Sunday—and Hodge too, for that matter."
A new idea had struck him and his face brightened. He would consult Ysenda and abide by her advice, and in the meantime he carefully hid away the silver bell.
For two or three days to come he had no opportunity of meeting the farmer's pretty daughter. But one evening when he had looked in at Dame Martha's to see how she and the orphans were getting on, he met Ysenda, on her way thither. She was carrying a basket with what provisions she had got leave to bring them. For she was too honest to give away anything belonging to her father without his permission. She stopped at once, on seeing Mike, who doffed his hat.
"Good evening," she said, "I am——" but he interrupted her. "Let me carry that for you. It is heavy," he began, taking hold of the handle.
"I could wish it were heavier," she said, with a rather pitiful smile. "I do what I can for the good dame and those dear children, but it isn't much."
"It's more than I do," said Michael regretfully.
"Don't say that," she replied eagerly. "You give all you have to give. But what irks me is the knowing I should be able to do all needed for the poor things, if only—my father——" she stopped short. "How are they?" she went on again. "You have been there, I make sure?"
Michael blushed.