"You little darling! Saint John was right, you are a canary! But I was right, too. You ain't caged. I'm mighty glad I've caught you. I always did like pets. I wonder what you will think of Muffet, grandma's canary? If I just had these lovely lilacs now, little birdie, I'd be perfectly happy. But a bird in the hand is worth—a whole bushel of blossoms. I guess I'll take you home to Elspeth—"
"Oh, you mustn't!" cried a distressed voice behind the purple tassels. "That is my bird, Gypsy. I just let him loose to see if it was really you mocking him. Bring him home, won't you? And I'll give you all the lilacs you want."
Startled at the sound of a human voice almost at her elbow when she could see no sign of the speaker, Peace let go her hold on the frightened captive, and with a relieved chirp, it flew out of sight among the thick branches. But she made no attempt to follow its flight, she was too scared. "Are—are—was it a real woman which did that talking?" chattered Peace, wetting her lips with her tongue.
"Yes," answered the voice, with just the tinge of a laugh in it. "I live in the stone house this side of the lilac bushes. I saw you through the leaves and heard what you said, but won't you please bring my little Gypsy home? I'll give you all the flowers you want. Go down to the road and come in through the front gate. I am here in my chair."
"Your bird has gone home already," Peace answered, reassured by this explanation. "But I'll come and get those lilacs you spoke about."
She ran nimbly down the length of the lilac hedge, dodged out of sight around the corner, and appeared the next moment at the iron gate which shut out the street from the grand stone house with its wide lawns, great oaks, smooth, flower-bordered walks, and splashing fountain.
"Oh, how beau-ti-ful!" cried the child in delight, as the gate swung shut behind her. "I've always wanted to know what this place looked like, but the tall hedge all along the fence is too thick to see through and one can get only a teenty peek through the gate. There is your bird on top of its cage now. See, I didn't keep him, though I'd like to. He is a splendid singer. I sh'd think you'd be the happiest lady in the whole world with all these lovely flowers and—are you a lady?"
For the first time since entering the great gate, Peace turned her big, brown eyes full upon the occupant of the reclining chair in the shade of the lilac bushes, and her lively chatter faltered, for the face pillowed among the silken cushions seemed neither a child's nor yet a woman's. The eyes, intensely blue and clear, the broad, high forehead, the thin cheeks and colorless lips, even the heavy braids of brown hair with their auburn lights, did not seem to belong to a mere mortal. And yet she could not be an angel, for even Peace's youthful, untrained mind swiftly read the bitterness and rebellion which lurked in those deep, wonderful eyes. It was as if some doomed soul were looking out through the bars of a prison fortress, without a single ray of hope to break the gloom, without a single thought to cheer or comfort. And so Peace, in her childish ignorance, asked, "Are you a lady?"
"A woman grown," the sweet voice answered, and a faint smile of amusement flitted across the marble-white face.
"Your—your hair is in braids," stammered Peace, unable to put her subtle feelings into words.