“No, no; I want you to catch the cock. There it goes! There—behind the hayrick. You go to one side, and I’ll go to the other.”
“It’s going through the gate!” shouted Sol.
“Shoo!” cried I. “Shoo! Oh, it’s gone!” and we both made a dart into the park in pursuit, tore round the corner into the avenue, and there I found myself face to face with a sunburned young man in a tweed suit, who was lounging along in the direction of the house.
There was no mistaking those laughing gray eyes, though I think if I had never looked at him some instinct would have told me that it was Jack. How could I be dignified with the crested hen tucked under my arm? I tried to pull myself up; but the miserable bird seemed to think that it had found a protector at last, for it began to cluck with redoubled vehemence. I had to give it up in despair, and burst into a laugh, while Jack did the same.
“How are you, Nell?” he said, holding out his hand; and then, in an astonished voice, “Why, you’re not a bit the same as when I saw you last!”
“Well, I hadn’t a hen under my arm then,” said I.
“Who would have thought that little Nell would have developed into a woman?” said Jack, still lost in amazement.
“You didn’t expect me to develop into a man, did you?” said I, in high indignation; and then, suddenly dropping all reserve, “We’re awfully glad you’ve come, Jack. Never mind going up to the house. Come and help us to catch that Bantam cock.”
“Right you are,” said Jack, in his old cheery way, still keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon my countenance. “Come on!” and away the three of us scampered across the park, with poor Sol aiding and abetting with the scissors and the prisoner in the rear. Jack was a very crumpled-looking visitor by the time he paid his respects to the mother that afternoon, and my dreams of dignity and reserve were scattered to the winds.