"You are not going out, Reginald?" she asked, seeing that he was.

"I'll be back for tea, mater," said Reggie weakly, plunging his hands into
his jacket pockets.

Snip. Off came a head. Reggie almost jumped.

"I should have thought you could have spared your mother your last
afternoon," said she.

Silence. The Pekes stared. They understood every word of the mater's.
Biddy lay down with her tongue poked out; she was so fat and glossy she
looked like a lump of half-melted toffee. But Chinny's porcelain eyes
gloomed at Reginald, and he sniffed faintly, as though the whole world were
one unpleasant smell. Snip, went the scissors again. Poor little beggars;
they were getting it!

"And where are you going, if your mother may ask?" asked the mater.

It was over at last, but Reggie did not slow down until he was out of sight
of the house and half-way to Colonel Proctor's. Then only he noticed what
a top-hole afternoon it was. It had been raining all the morning, late
summer rain, warm, heavy, quick, and now the sky was clear, except for a
long tail of little clouds, like duckings, sailing over the forest. There
was just enough wind to shake the last drops off the trees; one warm star
splashed on his hand. Ping!--another drummed on his hat. The empty road
gleamed, the hedges smelled of briar, and how big and bright the hollyhocks
glowed in the cottage gardens. And here was Colonel Proctor's--here it was
already. His hand was on the gate, his elbow jogged the syringa bushes,