But all her peering was in vain; they reached the end of the little wood without a single primrose showing its pretty face, and Hoodie was obliged to content herself with the brightest and freshest plants they could find, which Lucy good-naturedly dug up for her.
At the edge of the wood, the path led them in front of the cottage to which three or four months ago Hoodie's memorable visit had been paid. Lucy walked on quickly, talking of other things in hope of distracting the little girl's attention till the forbidden ground was safely passed. Vain hope. Hoodie came to a dead stand in front of the little garden gate.
"That is the cottage where baby and its mother and the ugly man live," she announced to Lucy. "Once, a long time ago, I went there to tea. Baby's mother asked me to come again some day."
"But not to-day, Miss Hoodie," said poor Lucy, nervously "we'd be too late if we stopped now."
"No, not to-day," said Hoodie. "I don't want to go to-day. I'm too unhappy about birdie to care for cakes now. I don't think I'll ever care for cakes any more. Besides," with a slight hesitation, "she won't have any ready. She said I was to let her know. P'raps I'll let her know some day."
She was turning to walk on, immensely to Lucy's relief, when the gleam of some pale yellow flowers growing close under the cottage walls, up at the other end of the long narrow strip of garden, caught her glance.
"Lucy," she cried. "I see some p'imroses in the garden. I must run in and ask baby's mother to give me some. I'm sure she will."
She unfastened the wooden gate and was some steps up the path before Lucy had time to reply.
"They're not primroses, Miss Hoodie," she said. "Indeed they're not. I can see from here. They're quite another kind. Oh, do come back, Miss Hoodie."
"I won't be a minute," said Hoodie, "I'd like some of the flowers any way," and she began to run on again.