Betty started to her feet. Looking down upon her was a tall old lady, dressed in a shady straw hat and black lace shawl; her black silk dress rustled as she moved. One hand was resting on a stick, the other was holding a sunshade. Her face was as still and cold-looking as some of the figures on the monuments in the little village church, and her voice stern and peremptory.
Wild thoughts flashed through Betty's brain. Was this a fairy godmother, a queen, a princess? Or might it possibly be the old governess that Mr. Roper loved so much?
Again the question was repeated, in the same stern tone, and Betty gazed up in awe, as she answered simply,—
'I was counting the primroses, to see if they were even or odd.'
'And what business have you to be trespassing in my private grounds?'
'I didn't know this was trespassing,' Betty faltered; 'a wood belongs to anybody in the country, and I haven't got inside your gate yet, though I was going to try.'
'And pray what were you coming inside my gate to do?'
'I'm—I'm looking for adventures; I have to do something before I go back.'
'I think you had better explain to me who you are.'
The voice was gentler, and Betty took courage. The lady listened to her attentively, and seemed interested; she even smiled when Betty, looking up, asked innocently, 'I suppose you are not a princess, are you?'