‘I would. The only thing is that perhaps father wouldn’t like it.’
‘I know he wouldn’t.’
‘What’s to be done, then? Are we to spend our time hunting these blessed hens until the day we die? If so’—tragically—‘I hope that day will come full soon. Oh, I declare, there’s the cock! Run, Susan, run! Oh, the villain! the ringleader! Catch him, Susan! Oh, there, he’s gone under the laurels! Oh, the artful thing!’
‘No he isn’t,’ cries Susan; ‘he’s over there, near you. I see his leg. This side—this side, Betty. Ah, now you have him! Hold him—hold him tight.’ Betty has caught hold of the king of the yard, and is dragging him ruthlessly from his hiding-place. There are yells from the cock, and muttered execrations from Betty. But finally the cock has the best of it. With a whir and a whoop he makes a last grand sprint, and once again knows the splendours of freedom.
Away he goes down the garden-path, and away go the girls after him.
‘Squawk, squawk, squawk!’ cries the cock; and ‘Oh, if I catch you!’ cries Betty, under her breath. Her breath is, indeed, running very short. Susan’s has given way entirely.
‘Oh, he is going to the tennis-ground!’ shrieks Betty distractedly; and, indeed, the cock, with a view of circumventing the enemy, is making for that broad course.
At the rustic gateway, however, that leads to it from the garden, a third enemy appears upon the scene—an enemy that takes off his hat, and makes such a magnificent attack with it that the cock, disheartened, gives way in turn, retreats, chassés a little, and finally, with a wild skirl, swoops over the garden wall after his wives, and is gone.
‘It was a famous victory!’ cries Mr. Crosby, when the defeat of the cock is beyond doubt.
He is looking at Susan. Such a lovely, flushed, and laughter-filled Susan! A Susan with soft locks flying into her beauteous eyes. A Susan with soft parted lips, and breath coming in little merry gasps.