Wych Hazel looked anything but ready.  She was very young in the world’s ways, very new to her own popularity, and somehow Mrs. Saddler’s story touched her sensitiveness.  The shy, shrinking colour and look told of what at six years old would have made her hide her face under her mother’s apron.  No such refuge being at hand, however, and she obliged to face the world for herself, as soon as she had despatched a very dignified message to Mr. Rollo, the young lady’s feeling sought relief in irritation.

’I suppose I am not to blame this time, for making myself conspicuous, sir!  Have you given me up as a bad bargain, Mr. Falkirk?’

’It can’t be helped, my dear,’—­said her guardian somewhat dryly, and soberly too.  ’I think however it is rather somebody else who is making himself conspicuous at this time.’

He became conspicuous to their vision a minute after, appearing in the mill door-way with a little dish in his hand and attended by Phoebe with other appliances; but nothing mortal could less justify Wych Hazel’s sensation of shyness.  With the coolness of a traveller, the readiness of a hunter, and the business attention of a cook or a courier, both which offices he had been filling, he went about his arrangements.  The single chair that was in the mill was taken from Mr. Falkirk and brought up to do duty as a table, with a board laid upon it.  On this board was set the bird, hot and savoury, on its blue-edged dish; another plate with bread and salt, and a glass of water; together with a very original knife and fork, that were probably introduced soon after the savages ‘left.’  Mrs. Saddler’s eyes grew big as she looked; but Rollo and the miller’s girl understood each other perfectly and wanted none of her help.  Well——­

’Girls blush sometimes because they are alive’—­but seeing it could not be helped, as Mr. Falkirk had said, Wych Hazel rallied whatever of her was grown up, and tried to do justice to both the cooking and the compliment.  The extreme gravity and propriety of her demeanour were a little suspicious to one who knew her well, and there could be no sort of question as to the prettiest possible curl which now and then betrayed itself at the corners of her mouth; but Miss Kennedy had herself remarkably in hand, and talked as demurely from behind the breast-bone of her robin as if it had been a small mountain ridge.  Mr. Falkirk looked on.

‘Where did you find that, Rollo?’

‘Somewhere within a mile of circuit, sir,’ said Rollo, who had taken a position of ease in the mill doorway, half lying on the floor, and looking out on the lake.

‘You are a good provider.’

’Might have had fish—­if my tackle had not been out of reach.  I did manage to pick up a second course, though——­Miss Phoebe, I think it is time for the second course——­’

His action, at least, Phoebe understood, if not his words; for as he sprang up and cleared the board of the relics of the robin, the miller’s daughter, looking as if the whole thing was a play, brought out from some crib a large platter of wild strawberries bordered with vine leaves; along with some bowls of very good looking milk.