So, after that, every afternoon, when he came in from his walk, he spent a happy hour with his dear mistress.
One night, after a hot and breathless day, Dr. and Mrs. Johns were sitting with Betsy in her little room. The lights were out to make it cooler, and the windows were open to the west. A puff of wind stirred the curtains and died away again. Dr. Johns walked to the window and looked out.
“We shall have a storm to-night,” said he. “There’s a bank of clouds brewing something over there in the northwest.”
“I think I’ll have a look around,” said Mrs. Johns, “and see that everything is safe, in case of a rain or blow.”
“Couldn’t we bring Van in the house, Uncle Ben?”
“I think he’s quite safe where he is. There’s a matting screen to keep off the wind and rain at the open end, and nothing can get through that mass of honeysuckle along the front. He’s better off where he is. Now, don’t worry, just go to sleep. It is bedtime, and everything will be fixed shipshape.”
Betsy sighed and said nothing more. Mrs. Johns saw that the little Prince was safe under his blanket on the couch and all cosy for the night, and she did not notice the pleading in his sad eyes as she gave him a final pat and left him alone.
Every one was quiet for the night, except Betsy, who lay tossing restlessly on her bed in the dark.
Outside, far off in the northwest, a strange whisper in the air grew to a mutter and a rumble. Betsy wrapped herself in a blanket and slipped in among the pillows of her window-seat, to watch the coming storm, and she wished that she had Van there for company; he liked a thunder-storm as well as she herself did.
Betsy looked out over the hills where she had so often watched the wonderful changes of the sunsets. In the south there was a thin crescent moon that showed its face by flashes between the scurrying advance-clouds, with which the little winds were having a grand pillow-fight. The moon rode serenely higher and higher and paid no attention to the play that was going on.