"If you catch cold—"
"I shan't catch cold."
"Well, I have warned you."
"All right."
In two minutes Jean forgot all about his boots, in attention to her feathered invalid. Cyril by no means forgot, for their soaked condition and outward muddiness both meant discomfort, but he never thought of giving way.
As they reached the Rectory door, Mr. Trevelyan came out.
"Jean, just back? What are you after?" This question did not mean displeasure. It only meant that he always expected everybody to be "after" some definite object, and that he wished to hear specified the precise end and aim of Jean's existence at that moment.
"I'm going in to see if aunt Marie wants me. And this bird—"
"A robin—broken leg," said Mr. Trevelyan, touching the little creature with kind fingers. "No, your aunt doesn't want you. Give over the bird to her, and come with me to Dutton Park."
"Now?"