The noise comes from right under the home-park, too."
"You depreciate the Major!" Miss Marty tapped her bare foot
impatiently on the pebbles; but, recollecting herself, drew it back
with a blush.
"I do not," answered the Doctor, hotly. "I merely say that he is
allowing his men yonder to get out of hand."
"Perhaps _you_ had better go, and, as the poet puts it, 'ride on the
whirlwind and direct the storm,'" she suggested, with gentle sarcasm.
The Doctor rose stiffly. "Perhaps, on the whole, I had.
Your stocking"--he lifted and felt it carefully--"will be dry in five
minutes or so. Shall I direct Cai Tamblyn to bring the boat hither
if I pass him on my way?"
She glanced up with a quivering lip.
"Isn't--isn't that a Sulphur Yellow?" she asked, pointing to a
butterfly which wavered past them and poised itself for an instant on
a pebble by the brink of the pool.
"Eh? By George! so it is." The Doctor caught up his shako and raced
off in pursuit. "Steady now! . . . Is he gone? . . . Yes. . . . No,
I have him!" he called, as with a swift wave of his arm he brought
the shako down smartly on the pebbles and, kneeling, held it down
with both hands.
"Where?" panted Miss Marty.
"Here . . . if you will stoop while I lift the brim. . . . Carefully,
please. Now!"
Miss Marty stooped, but could not reach low enough to peer under the
shako. She dropped on her knees.
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