"They're fairly well," he said. "It was only a bundle of fire-wood, and, and—some windfall apples I found—nothing to speak of. The boy—Paul—has had a bit of work this week. I spoke to our master for him, but it's a slack time of year, you see."
Ysenda nodded. Michael had turned and was retracing his steps with her. For a moment or two neither spoke. Then suddenly the young man looked at her, with a grave face.
"Ysenda," he said, "I want your advice," and he went on hurriedly to relate to her the experiences of the last two Sundays in his cousins' cottages. She listened attentively, but somewhat to his perplexity she seemed in no way surprised or discouraged by his story, for when he ended by saying, "Don't you think I'd best give it up? It doesn't seem meant for the like of us. Uncle Peter didn't understand maybe that we're not the same as him—we're too thick-skulled and dull, and not full of benevolence and charity as he was. The good people don't care to bestow their benefits on common rough fellows like us," she replied quietly:
"No, Michael, I don't agree with you. You've got wrong notions. There's a condition attached to the spell, which must be discovered by yourself. Uncle Peter told you this plainly. He said nothing about success depending on your being very clever, or learned in the ways he was, and he knew none of you were. He knew the condition was one quite possible for you to fulfil, but it had to be your own doing. Well—Hodge and Giles have failed—Giles less than Hodge——"
"Because he wasn't such a selfish pig as Hodge," Michael interrupted, "still——"
Ysenda smiled.
"Still," she went on, "a meal of bread and cheese isn't worth the trouble. I agree with you. But I don't see why you should not succeed, though the others have failed."
"I don't know why I should!" exclaimed he. "I can think of nothing new to try, and it worries me. I keep dreaming about it night and day, till I want to throw it over and have done with it. I had a plan——" but he hesitated.
"Tell me your plan," she urged.
"It was this. I thought maybe Hodge and Giles would forget the right words or miss the time or do something stupid that I could see and guard against when my turn came, and if so I had planned how I'd invite the poor dame and her children to the Sunday feast—I'd have just bid them come a few minutes before the time, the way uncle did with us—and when I'd got it all ready—steaming hot and all beautiful and tempting, I'd throw open the door and show them in. My! just to think of it," and his blue eyes danced with pleasure.