"You spoke for me?" exclaims he, incredulously.
"Yes. But I fear I have done no good."
The boy's eyes seek the ground.
"I didn't think the likes of you would care to say a kind word for such as me,—and without the asking," he says, huskily. "Look here, Miss Chesney, if it will please you, I swear I will never again snare a bird."
"Oh, Heskett, will you promise really?" returns Lilian, charmed at her success, "and can I trust you? You know you gave your word before to Sir Guy."
"But not to you, miss. Yes, I will be honest to please you. And indeed, Miss Chesney, when I left home this morning I never meant to kill a thing. I started with a short oak stick in my hand, quite innocent like, and up by the bit of heather yonder this young one ran across my path; I didn't seek it, and may bad luck go with the oak stick, for, before I knew what I meant, it flew from me, and a second later the bird lay dead as mutton. Not a stir in it. I was always a fine shot, miss, with a stick or a stone," says the accomplished Heskett, regarding his grouse with much pride. "Will you have it, miss?" he says then, holding it out to her.
"No, thank you," loftily: "I am not a receiver of stolen goods; and it is stolen, remember that."
"I suppose so, miss. Well, as I said before, I will be honest now to please you, you have been so good to me."
"You should try to please some One higher," says Lilian, with a solemnity that in her is sweeter than it is comical.
"Nay, then, miss,—to please you first, if I may."