I thought I detected Emily's derisive influence in this poor, simple creature's words. Silvy was so perfectly mild and harmless in appearance, however, that I began to feel reassured.
"I've heard about you, Silvy," I continued, cheerfully. "I'm the teacher, you know. You've heard them speak of the teacher?"
"So glad," continued Silvy, in the same low, cooing tone; "so glad to meet the queen of heaven."
"Hush!" said I then. "You mustn't say that again. Draw your shawl up tighter." For in spite of the bonfire, the wind was blowing cold on the hill.
While I spoke Silvy had become absorbed in watching the fire again. I would have walked quietly away, but as I turned to go she thrust her head toward me quickly and whispered:—
"Wait! don't—you—ever—tell!"
Silvy put her hand to her lips.
"No," said I, smiling.
"Silvy never told," she went on; "except to you. You've got a key. Silvy's got a key. She keeps things all locked up, Silvy does. Emily don't have any key. She talks—she talks all over—don't you tell—but Silvy lives with Emily—so bad," said Silvy, heaving a gentle sigh and speaking in a tone of the deepest confidence; "so bad not to have any key."
"That's true, I think," said I, beginning to find my strange companion rather interesting.