'Oh!' she said, jumping up, and checking her own wild murmurs
of song,--'My dear Mr. Falkirk, how did you? What is the last
news from civilization?' She looked wild wood enough, with the
pink wreath round her hat and her curls twisted round the
wind's fingers.

'But what did you come here for?'

'It's a pleasant place, sir--Mr. Rollo says. I was going to
propose that you and I should have a joint summer house here,
with strawberries and cream. Mr. Falkirk, haven't you a bun in
your pocket?'

At this moment, and in the most matter-of-fact manner,
presented himself her red squirrel friend, arriving from
nobody knew where; and bringing not only himself but a little
basket in which appeared--precisely--biscuits and strawberries.
Silently all this presented itself. Wych Hazel's cheeks
rivalled the strawberries for about a minute, but whether from
stirred vanity or vexation it was hard to tell.

'Mr. Falkirk!' she cried, 'are all the rest of the staff
coming? Here is the Commissary--is the Quarter-master behind,
in the bushes?'

'I have no doubt we shall find him,' said Mr. Falkirk, dryly.
'How did you get into this bird's nest, child?'

'She was drawn here, sir,--by a red squirrel.'