"'Picking blackberries. Obviously.'

"'I don't like the way it cried,' pursued Constance; 'somehow its
wail keeps ringing in my ears.'

"I did not chide Constance for her morbid fancies; as a matter of
fact the same sensation, of being pursued by a persistent fretful
wail, had been forcing itself on my rather over-tired nerves. For
company's sake I hulloed to Esmé, who had lagged somewhat behind.
With a few springy bounds he drew up level, and then shot past us.

"The wailing accompaniment was explained. The gipsy child was
firmly, and I expect painfully, held in his jaws.

"'Merciful Heaven screamed Constance, 'what on earth shall we do?
What are we to do?'

"I am perfectly certain that at the Last Judgment Constance will
ask more questions than any of the examining Seraphs.

"'Can't we do something?' she persisted tearfully, as Esmé
cantered easily along in front of our tired horses.

"Personally I was doing everything that occurred to me at the
moment. I stormed and scolded and coaxed in English and French
and gamekeeper language; I made absurd, ineffectual cuts in the
air with my thongless hunting-crop; I hurled my sandwich case at
the brute; in fact, I really don't know what more I could have
done. And still we lumbered on through the deepening dusk, with