He vanished down a slope that led under one wing of the house, and in half a minute John Falconer came out to her. He was like the hill he lived on—a gray badger of a man, grim, reticent, yet kindly. His short neck made the breadth of his shoulders more apparent. His legs were bowed and immensely strong. John Falconer was a piece of the Forest. His hair and beard were the color of beech mast, sanded with gray.
“Do you know me?”
His eyes brightened like a dog’s.
“God’s death! Is it you?”
“My own and very self. And poor Gilbert—you have heard?”
He looked grim.
“God hearten you, child! But what has happened?”
The boy reappeared, and proceeded to stare at them, while he picked his teeth with a straw. Nor was John Falconer aware of the youngster’s presence until he saw Mellis’s eyes prompting him to turn his head.
The man of Badger Hill gave a kind of growl, and the child disappeared with a flutter of brown legs.
“I had to find you, John, but I am loth to be seen here by any stray fool.”