“Why bless—bless your lovin’ little ‘eart!” quavered the old man, and stooped to touch her rosy cheek with a hand gnarled and scarred with much hard punching, yet a very gentle hand indeed. “God bless that little game leg, but pretty flowers ‘ud be wasted on a old bloke like me. You take ‘em to th’ Guv, see—over there—that tall chap leanin’ over th’ pool. But first gimme a—a kiss instead, will ye, little lass?”
“I’d like to, sir.”
And when the Old Un had kissed and been kissed right heartily, he pointed to Ravenslee’s distant, lounging figure, winked, nodded, and squeaked away.
Thus it was that Ravenslee, absorbed in thought, was presently roused by the quick light tapping of the little crutch and glanced up.
“Oh!” she cried softly; the flowers fell and lay neglected as, clasping her hands, she stared up at him in radiant-eyed wonder.
“Welcome, Highness!” said he and bowed.
“Oh, it’s the Prince—my dear Prince! Oh, Goody!” and she hastened toward him, then stopped all at once, puzzled and abashed because of his elegant attire. Perceiving which he reached out and drew her down by him on the marble seat beside the pool.
“Why this sudden change of demeanour, Princess?” he enquired. “What’s the matter?”
“You’re—you’re so different, sir—so different an’ grand in all them cute clo’es, sir.”
“Am I, dear? But I’m just the same inside, you know. And, for heaven’s sake, Princess, do not call me ‘sir.’”
“But the big gentleman that belongs here an’ has all these lovely flowers an’ everything—he says as I must always say ‘sir.’”
“Big gentleman?”
“Yes, the big, soft gentleman with the cute little curls on his cheeks.”
“Oh—him!” said Ravenslee, laughing suddenly. “Indeed a very just description, Princess. But you don’t have to worry about him any more; he’s gone.”
“Gone? For good?”
“For very good indeed!”
“Doesn’t all this beautiful, beautiful place belong t’ him any more?”
“Never any more.”
“Have you come here ‘stead of him? Come t’ stay?”
“Yes.”
“An’ can I pick a rose t’ kiss sometimes?”
“As many as you like.”
“Oh!” sighed the child rapturously, nestling within his arm, “isn’t that just—fine! I guess this sure is the Beautiful City of Perhaps, after all!”
“I wonder?”
“Oh, but I’m sure it is—now th’ gentleman’s gone I just know it is!”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Everything! ‘Cause you see, Prince, my daddy don’t have t’ be away all day any more. An’ mumsey don’t have t’ sew late, nights, any more. An’ when we came into the cute little house where we live—there was the doll that says ‘mamma’ jest waitin’ f’ me. An’ there was a big box o’ candies, an’ a doll carriage with real rubber on th’ wheels—jest like we used to talk about. So you see this must be Perhaps at last, an’ I’m so—so happy—only—” Hazel sighed.
“Only what?”
“I do wish Hermy could find her way here too; she used t’ be so tired sometimes.”
“You mean that you would like to find Princess Nobody, I guess.”
“Oh, but I can’t! I used to look an’ look for her every day ‘til th’ gentleman said she wasn’t here, an’ told me never t’ come near th’ big house any more.”
“But he’s gone, and you never had me to help you.”
“Oh, will you—will you help me right now?” she pleaded.
“Surest thing you know!” he nodded, “your hand, Princess.”
So hand in hand he led her, suiting his long legs to hers, along shady walks, up terrace steps, across smooth lawns, and so to the great house. Hazel paused to question him further concerning “the gentleman”, but Ravenslee laughed and, seating her upon his shoulder, bore her into the house.
In her housekeeper’s room, surrounded by many dusty bill files and stacks of account books, they presently found Mrs. Trapes, whose hawk’s-eye viewed bills and tradesmen’s books while she frowned and muttered such comments as “Rogues!” “Thieves!” “Scand’lous!” “Wicked!” Until glancing up, her sharp features softened, and she smiled up into the child’s happy face.
“So Hazel’s found ye, has she, Mr. Geoffrey. An’ talkin’ o’ her, you’ve sure made the Bowkers a happy fam’ly. But, my land, Mr. Ravenslee, the scand’lous prices as th’ tradespeople has been allowed t’ charge you these last six months! Here’s th’ butcher—listen t’ this—”
“Heaven forbid, Mrs. Trapes! Rather let that butcher listen to you, miserable wretch!”
