"What a fool you did look last night!" I say with sisterly candor, "when
you put your head round the schoolroom door, and found that you had been
witty about him to his face!"

Bobby reddens, and aims a bit of mortar at a round-eyed robin that has
perched near us.

"At all events, I did not call him a _beast_"

"Well, never mind; do not get angry! What did it matter?" say I,
comfortingly. "You did not mention his name. How could he tell that he
was our benefactor? He did not even know that he was to be; and I begin
to have misgivings about it myself."

"I cannot say that I see much sign of his putting his hand into his
breeches-pocket," says Bobby, vulgarly.

There is the click of a lifted latch. We both look in the direction
whence comes the sound. He of whom we speak is entering the garden by a
distant door.

"Get down, Bobby!" cry I, hurriedly, "and help me down. Make haste!
quick! I would not have him find me perched up here for _worlds_"

Bobby gets down as nimbly as a monkey. I prepare to do likewise.

"Hold it steady!" I cry nervously, and, so saying, begin to turn round
and to stretch out one leg, with the intention of making a graceful
descent backward.