By dint of much questioning, the Bookie’s whereabouts and the extent of his misfortunes were arrived at. The dogcart and horse were captured in an adjacent village, and the Bookie spent a month indoors. Fuzzy went to see him every day, so did they all, but they never spoke of the accident. They played Poker and Nap round his sick-bed, and the beggar constantly won. The night before he went down he told them about Fuzzy. He forgot to swear at all during the narrative, but at the end he said: "And I’m damned if those dusty strap-shoes wouldn’t get between me and too much of the best champagne ever bottled!" *X* *THE DARK LADY* Nobody knew her—that is to say, none of the other ladies knew her. She was staying at the "Moonstone" for the hunting, accompanied by a maid, a couple of grooms, and six horses. The hotel people called her "the Baroness." Billy always spoke of her as "that pretty lady"; but then it is possible that admiration for her daring horsemanship coloured Billy’s views. On this particular afternoon Billy and the unknown lady found themselves at the same gate, in the gathering gloom of a November afternoon, six good miles from home. She was trying to lift a refractory latch with her hunting-crop when Billy rode up on his shaggy sheltie, dismounted cap in hand, and opened the gate for her. "We seem to have lost the others, you and I. Shall we jog home together?" she asked, as Billy, having carefully fastened the gate, followed her down the rutty lane. "I’m not very sure where we are; but I suppose this lane leads somewhere," she continued. "I know the way," answered the little boy cheerfully. "I shall be very glad of your company. Jackson—that’s our man—lamed the cob early in the day and had to go home, and it’s lonely riding by one’s self." "I am often lonely," said the lady, more to herself than to Billy. "Are you? So am I. I’m the only one who hunts, you see; but I’m going to school at Easter, then I shan’t be lonely any more." "Are you glad to be going to school?" "Oh, yes! I shall like being with the other chaps awfully; but, of course, I shall miss my people ... and the dogs, and the pony." "Your people don’t hunt, do they?" "No; we’ve only the cob and my pony. Mother doesn’t hunt, she’s too nervous; and father doesn’t care for it. Mother drives to the near meets sometimes, but when it is a long way she likes Jackson to come with me for the day. Not that he’s any mortal use," added Billy with a gleeful chuckle. "He’s a potterer, and my brother is too little."