“Oh dear me!” thought Boy, “he’s dreadfully deaf; I shall never make him hear, I am afraid;” and he was just going to walk away when he saw an old woman in a red cloak hobbling towards them with the aid of a crooked stick. “My husband is very deaf,” she said, “and cannot hear a word you say. Can I do anything for you, sir?” “Oh, I was only asking the way to Limesia,” said Boy. “Why, you can’t go there to-night!” said the woman; “it’s ever so far; you had better stay at our cottage till the morning.” [Illustration: 0191] Boy thanked her very gratefully, for he really did not care for the long walk through the woods by himself. The old woman gave her husband a poke with her stick, and pointed to the cottage which Boy could see in the distance; and the old man nodded his head, and led the way with the bundle of sticks on his shoulder, while Boy and the old lady followed behind. “What a beautiful old house!” exclaimed Boy, when they reached the cottage; for it was indeed a lovely place, quite overgrown with climbing roses, which were just then in full bloom. There were nice old-fashioned, latticed windows with pretty white curtains and quaint twisted chimneys above the roof, and altogether it was a charming old place. “Why, it must be a great deal too big for you and your husband, surely,” said Boy, as they entered the wicket gate which led into the little garden before the cottage. “Oh, it doesn’t belong to us,” explained the woman; “it was the late King of Zum’s Hunting Lodge, and we live here rent free as caretakers. We have the kitchen and two small rooms, and the rest of the house has been occupied this last five years or more by gentlefolks,” said the old woman dropping her voice to a whisper and looking up nervously at the upper windows. “But come you in and have some supper; that is, if you don’t mind having it with us,” and the kind old soul led the way to the kitchen, which was scrupulously clean, and Boy sat down on a little three-legged stool while she made some milk hot in a caldron over the wood fire which was alight on the old-fashioned hearth. Presently a bell rang and the old woman asked Boy to watch that the milk didn’t boil over while she went upstairs to wait on the gentlefolks. She came down a minute or two afterwards with a piece of paper which she handed to Boy. “Will you please tell me what is written on there?” she said. “It’s getting dusk, and my poor old eyes are not so good as they used to be.” “_We shall not require anything else to-night, and please let breakfast be ready by nine o’clock to-morrow morning_,” read Boy. “Oh! that’s all right then,” said the old woman, pouring out the milk into some basins for their supper. “But why don’t they tell you what they want instead of writing it?” asked Boy. “They can’t,” explained the woman; “they are invisible and speechless. It’s a very sad story,” she said, sighing sorrowfully.