Ada at once dropped to a walk, and spoke to the dog, instead of answering the boy’s question.
“I say, you look here!” Edgar suddenly exclaimed in a whisper.
She turned, and saw him aiming with a catapult at a bird perched on a bush hard by. Before the aim was perfect, Ada had snatched the tool from his hands.
“Well, I call that!” cried the youngster, at a loss for words. “What do you want to spoil my shot for?”
“Can’t you amuse yourself without murdering!” returned the girl, hot in anger. “Shoot at that tree-trunk if you must shoot.”
“Murdering!” echoed the youth, in blank astonishment. “Come now, Miss Warren! Murdering a bird—I call that good!”
“What else is it? What right have you to rob the bird of its life? What is it that drives you to kill every creature that you safely may?”
“It’s fair sport!” urged the young Briton, in amaze at this outlandish mode of regarding things.
“Sport?”
She stood regarding him, the catapult still in her hand.