Before he could get any farther, Mistress Headley was inquiring what
was the rumour she had heard of robbers and dangers that had beset
her son, and he was presenting the two young Birkenholts to her.
"Brave boys! good boys," she said, holding out her hands and kissing
each according to the custom of welcome, "you have saved my son for
me, and this little one's father for her. Kiss them, Dennet, and
thank them."

"It was the poor dog," said the child, in a clear little voice,
drawing back with a certain quaint coquetting shyness; "I would
rather kiss him."

"Would that thou couldst, little mistress," said Stephen. "My poor
brave Spring!"

"Was he thine own? Tell me all about him," said Dennet, somewhat
imperiously.

She stood between the two strangers looking eagerly up with
sorrowfully interested eyes, while Stephen, out of his full heart,
told of his faithful comradeship with his hound from the infancy of
both. Her father meanwhile was exchanging serious converse with her
grandmother, and Giles finding himself left in the background,
began: "Come hither, pretty coz, and I will tell thee of my Lady of
Salisbury's dainty little hounds."

"I care not for dainty little hounds," returned Dennet; "I want to
hear of the poor faithful dog that flew at the wicked robber."