'Hello!' cried the boy, turning round, and flinging a stone into the tree. 'A squirrel, I'll be bound! I guess it's no use you hiding 'way up there, old fellow! I'll unearth you before you're much older!' And he commenced such an onslaught of stones that, to avoid the descending shower, Peggy tried to creep deeper into the hollow cavity where she was lying.
But the poor, rotten old tree could stand the strain no longer, and, with an awful crash, down came the overhanging bough, bringing Peggy to the ground with a good deal more speed than elegance.
'I say! What the dickens! Great Scott! Are you hurt?' exclaimed the boy, regarding with much astonishment the crumpled heap of sailor frock, brown curls, and splinters of willow-wood that had suddenly descended at his feet.
Peggy got up, feeling tenderly at her shins, which had suffered most in the fall.
'I don't think I'm quite killed,' she replied slowly. 'But I've no doubt there'll be heaps of bruises to-morrow.'
'So you were the squirrel! It was rather a cute dodge, and well done. I guess you're something of a tomboy, young lady, aren't you?' said the boy, grinning appreciatively.
'No, I'm not,' said Peggy, indignant at the old reproach; 'I'm only fond of a little fun. I know who you are. You're the boy who's staying with Miss Forster at the Willows. I saw you in church on Sunday;' and she nodded convincingly.
'Why, I believe I saw you, too! You dropped your collection money, and made a rabbit out of your pocket-handkerchief,' chuckling at the remembrance.
'Aren't you Miss Forster's nephew? What's your name? Why have you never been to Gorswen before? Where is your home?' asked Peggy, wondering at his slight American accent.
The boy whistled.