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"Stella, Stella," he called in agony. "Stella, speak! She tried to save me, and and it is all my fault, and I've killed her." And he burst into an agony of tears, for he really thought his sister was dead. Mrs. Anketell, who had run to her little daughter, quickly came back to him. "She is not dead," she said soothingly, great tears of thankfulness in her own eyes. "Thank God, Paul.
Anketell suggested that they should drive that afternoon to a village called Windycross, walk on a mile to the little town which was their nearest shopping-place, and come back to Windycross to tea. Stella was delighted.
Then they smiled at each other, and Paul saw that they grew happier again at once. "Shall I tell the boy about it now?" asked Mr. Anketell. "He must know sooner or later." Mrs. Anketell looked at Paul for a moment with an expression on her face that he could not read, but he thought she looked sorry about something, and very, very sad; then she looked away at her husband and nodded assent.
Anketell had to go away to see him, leaving Paul with his confession unmade. All the evening Paul watched in a fever of anxiety for Muggridge. He could not rest. He knew that the boots must be cleaned from all traces of his folly of the morning, and must be in their place by breakfast time the next day, or searching inquiries would begin.
Anketell, hearing his uneven steps, called to him not to use his foot too much. "All right," he called back willingly, for he was only too thankful that she did not prohibit him from using it altogether. Then he stumbled out to the stairs, and clambering up them a good deal faster than he usually moved, reached his room without further interruption.
Then Stella and Michael and Mrs. Anketell were shown in to the funny little car, which was called the 'pill-box, but Paul asked if he might ride up in the front of the cart on which the luggage was piled, and was allowed to, and a few minutes later they started off in procession down the road on their way to Moor Farm.
"I think you had all better come in now," she said. "Can you bring in the rugs and things between you?" The elder ones followed her in a few moments with their first load, and laid the things down in the passage. Mrs. Anketell was outside calling to the maids, "I can't think where they are," she said anxiously, as the children passed her on their way out. "Mrs.
The spirits of all flagged a good deal after Mr. Anketell's departure, and it was quite a sober little party that gathered round the tea-table in the orchard, and after tea they were quite content to sit and read instead of indulging in their old lively games. At seven o'clock Mrs. Anketell rose and went in with Mike to give him his glass of milk before putting him to bed.
Anketell, smiling, getting up to collect baskets and parcels, "and there is Farmer Minards himself with his car and a cart for the luggage." Then out they got, the only passengers for that little station, while the people in the train stared at them, enviously the children thought, and the people on the platform looked with curiosity and interest at them, and their big pile of luggage.
They had got back earlier than they thought they would, and the tea was not ready, so Mr. Anketell, who wanted to call on a friend near by, thought he would go and do that while they were waiting, and take the children with him. But Stella wanted so much to undo her precious parcel and look at her book that she pleaded to be left behind, and Mr. Anketell and Michael left her at the cottage.
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