The mist seemed to stifle the call, and the girl was about to repeat it, but it was loud enough for the dogs to hear, and they set up a fierce baying, which lasted till there was a loud commotion of yelps and cries, mingled with the rattling of chains, the same deep-mouthed dog breaking out in a very different solo this time, one suggestive of suffering from the application of boot toes to its ribs.
Then quiet, and Jenny with trembling hand once more raised the little silver whistle to her lips, and the shrill chirps rang out in their former smothered way.
“Oh,” sighed Jenny. “It will be a sore throat—I’m sure it will. I must go back; I dare not stay any longer. Ugh! How I do hate the little wretch. I could kill him!”
The girl’s pretty little white teeth grated together, and once more she stamped her foot, following up this display of irritation by stamping the other.
“Cold as frogs,” she muttered, “and the water’s oozy in my boots. Wretch!”
“Ullo!” came in a harsh whisper, followed by the cachination which often accompanies a grin. “You’ve come, then!”
There was a rustle of the bushes before her, and the dimly seen figure of Claud climbed over the iron hurdle, made a snatch at the girl’s arm with his right and a trial to fling his left about her waist, but she eluded him.
“Keep off,” she said sharply; “how dare you!”
“Because I love you so, little dicky-bird,” he whispered.
“I thought you didn’t mean to come.”