In the dining-room, with mother at her side and Joyce opposite to her, Joan fell to her food in her customary workman-like fashion, and between helpings answered questions in a fashion which only served to darken the mystery of her absence.
“But there aren’t any wood-ladies really, darling,” remonstrated mother.
“There is,” said Joan. “There’s lots. They wanted to keep me but I wouldn’t stay. So I comed home, ’cause I was hungry.”
“But,” began mother, “where did they take you to?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Joan. “The one what I went to speak to gave me her hand and tooked me to where there was more of them. It was a place in the wood wiv grass to sit on and bushes all round, and they gave me dead flowers to play wiv. Howwid old dead flowers!”
“Yes?” said mother. “What else?”
“There was anuvver little girl there,” went on Joan. “Not a wood-lady, but a girl like me, what they’d tooked from somewhere. She was wearing a greeny sort of dress like they was, and they wanted me to put one on too. But I wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” asked Joyce.
“’Cause I didn’t want to be a wood-lady,” replied Joan.
“Listen to me, darling,” said mother. “Didn’t these people whom you call wood-ladies take you away out of the wood? We searched the whole wood, you know, and you weren’t there at all.”