'And there, missie, if I don't meet you before, you'll be certain sure to see me a-comin' over from the other side, as fast as I can get along. It won't be dark by then—and p'raps it'll be a moonlight night, unless the clouds thicken up for snow.'
It did seem, all the same, rather gloomy in the lane—'because of the trees and the hedges,' thought Miss Mouse—and certainly when she got to the end and came out on the moor, it looked a little lighter.
She stood still and looked about her, drawing a deep breath. But she felt a little disappointed; the moor here seemed quite different from up at Moor Edge—it was so much lower, more like a rough field.
'I don't care for it a bit down here,' she thought. 'And then it's so much, much farther to get to, than at the boys'. Why, there you run almost straight out of the garden on to the dear real moor. I quite know the way Archie and the others feel about it.'
She trotted on—straight on, as Bob had directed, and before very long she came to the little hollow with the clump of bushes in the centre which he had described. But there was no Bob there, and at first her heart went down a little—supposing he had not been able to come, supposing the people he owed the money to had refused after all to wait till to-morrow morning, and had done something dreadful—put him in prison, perhaps, for Miss Mouse's ideas as to what might or might not be done to people, poor boys especially, who owed money, were very vague, or gone to frighten old Nance—oh dear, dear, what a pity it was, thought the little girl, that she had not taken her purse and all her riches with her to Weadmere that afternoon. Then she might have given Bob the six shillings at once, and not run any risk of delay, or have needed to come out to meet him in the—yes, it was almost getting to be the dark—and Rosamond gave a little shiver. But at that moment a welcome sound fell on her ears—the sound of rapidly running feet. She heard the boy before she saw him, but he it was. A small dark figure, darker than the dusky ground, soon became visible, running as fast as he could, and, as soon as he caught sight of her, calling out breathlessly, 'O miss, O miss, have you been waiting long?' and as soon as he came nearer, out poured a torrent of explanations as to how they had kept him waiting and waiting for the things he had been at Weadmere to fetch for the 'missus' at the farm where he worked.
'Well, never mind now,' said sensible Miss Mouse, 'I've got the money all right. Here it is, Bob, just exactly six shillings. I did it up into a little packet inside my purse, but you can count it if you like.'
'No, no, thank you, miss,' said the boy. 'I'm sure it's all right, and as like's not if we undid it, it'd drop out, and we'd have hard work to find it again in this brushwood. No, it's sure to be all right—and I'll never be able to thank you enough, that I won't, not if I live to be as old as gran herself.'
He was intensely grateful, there was no mistake about that, and already the little girl felt rewarded for the sacrifice she had made. Bob was evidently anxious too to get off, as he was still carrying the packages he had been to fetch, having come by this very roundabout way from the town, and he was anxious, too, to get 'miss' home, for fear of her being 'scolded' through what she had so kindly done for him.
They turned to go.
'I wish you could come home with me, Bob,' said Rosamond, 'it does look so dark. I don't mind here or on the road. It's the bit of lane that's so dark.'