Stepping around a projecting rock close at hand, Amberley came upon a pretty scene. On a wide level sunny space, where young grass was already springing, stood a little figure in blue, with yellow hair flying about in the breeze; a tiny hand filled with grass, held out toward the doubtful yet covetous Simon Jr. The child stood perfectly still, her square little back turned to her new observer, while the calf stumped cautiously toward her. At a safe distance he stopped and sniffed at the tiny hand, then kicked up his heels and pranced away again. The little drama repeated itself several times, the child standing always motionless, with extended arm, and calling upon "Bossie" in enticing tones to come.
Won over at last by her constancy,—or by his own greed,—"Bossie" ventured near enough to snatch the proffered tidbit; then off he scampered, in ungrateful haste, mouthing the delicate morsel.
A sigh of relief and satisfaction went up from the little figure, while one small hand gravely rubbed and kneaded the arm which had so pluckily maintained its uncomfortable position. Amberley approached with his short-stemmed daisy.
"How do you do, little girl?" he inquired in his most polite manner. "Would you like a daisy?"
"Yes," was the reply, spoken with a slight lisp.
"You are very good to feed Simon," Amberley proceeded, quite set at ease by the gracious acceptance of his offering.
"Yes;" said the child once more, this time with a rising inflection.
"Simon is my calf, you know," Amberley went on. "Here, Simon, come along."
Simon Jr., was already approaching, with an eye to business, and even as his master spoke, he had got his nose into a certain wide, baggy pocket in the old army trousers, and was poking it about in very familiar fashion.
"Wait a minute, Simon," said Amberley, drawing himself gently away. "Here, little girl, you take a bit of the salt in your hand and he'll come for it."