Hoodie at this looked more puzzled than before, but Magdalen, who had been speaking more to herself than to the child this time, did not try to explain any more. She bent over Hoodie and kissed her.
"Any way don't forget about trying to be good, and ask God to help you," she said.
The next day "Maudie's godmother" went away. She had stayed longer than she had intended, and now her father and mother could spare her no longer. The children were greatly distressed at her going. Maudie cried gently, the boys more uproariously, and all three joined in reproaching Hoodie for not crying at all. Hoodie seemed quite indifferent to their remarks.
"Why should I cry?" she said. "It would be very silly to cry when Cousin Magdalen is going back to her father and mother. Crying isn't any good."
"You don't love Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, "if you did you couldn't help crying."
"I do love her. I love her as many times as you do, ugl"——
She stopped—Magdalen was looking at her with a look that Hoodie understood. Hoodie ran to her and threw her arms round her neck.
"I do love you, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered. "Don't you believe me? I do love you, and I'm trying dedfully to be good, to please you and God, 'cos of birdie coming back."
"I do believe you, dear," said Magdalen, and Hoodie glanced round with triumph.
I am coming now to a part of Hoodie's history which I cannot prevent being rather sad. I wish, for some reasons, I could prevent it. But true stories must be told true, and even fancy stories must be told in a fancy true way, or else they do not suit themselves. When I was a little girl I never cared for the new-fashioned "Red Riding Hood" story; the one in which she was not eaten up at the end after all, but saved by a wood-cutter at the last minute. Of course it was very nice to think of poor Red Riding Hood not being eaten up, if one could have managed to believe it. But somehow I never could, and even now whenever I think of the story the old original ending, dreadful as it was, always comes back to me. So now that I am telling you about—not Red Riding Hood—but my queer, fanciful, but still I hope lovable, Hoodie, I feel that I must go straight on and tell you what really happened, even though it makes you rather sad.