"Alec lassoed his first steer all right—made a neat job of it too," said Knight enthusiastically.
"Very amateurish work," Alec protested, pleased nevertheless at Knight's praise. "The steer thought I looked so harmless that he took a big chance—that's how I came to land him."
"But what did you 'bag?'" asked Blue Bonnet, going back to the original question. "Is it good to eat?"
Knight and Alec exchanged amused glances. "Never tasted them," both declared.
"Where is it?" Blue Bonnet persisted.
"'Tisn't 'it,'—but 'they'—and they're out in the barn," said Alec, delighting in the mystery.
Blue Bonnet was all impatience. "Oh, do hurry, everybody, and let's go see," she urged.
The rapidity with which Knight and Alec ate the rest of their supper should have given them indigestion, even if it did not. It was impossible to leave any of Gertrudis' raspberry tart; equally impossible to keep their hostess waiting when she was on tip-toe to be off; mastication therefore was the only thing they could neglect—and did.
Blue Bonnet had felt all the weight of her sixteen years a few hours earlier, but now she seemed to drop at least six of them, as she raced across the yard, impelled by a curiosity that Kitty would have died rather than display.
Don and Solomon were sniffing excitedly about one of the mangers, emitting an occasional shrill bark; Blue Bonnet went straight to it and peered down. It was too dark to make out anything, but she could hear a rustling in the hay, and a pathetic, low whine.
