Peter pulled the carriage up and down the garden half a dozen times, listening the while till he heard the dull bang of the front door.
“They’re gone,” he said gleefully. “Come on!”
He went down the garden at a trot, and then carefully drew the wheeled-chair on to the grass at the bottom.
“Peter, did you feed the squirrel!” said Dexter suddenly.
Peter looked round very seriously, and shook his head.
“Oh!” ejaculated Dexter. “Why didn’t you feed the poor thing?”
“Wait a minute and you’ll see,” said the groom; and, drawing the chair a little further, until it was close to the brink of the bright river, he turned round—
“Thought you’d like to feed him yourself, so I brought him down.”
There, on a willow branch, hung the old cage, with the squirrel inside, and Peter thrust his hand into his pocket to withdraw it full of nuts.
But Peter had not finished his surprise, for he left the chair for a few moments and returned with Dexter’s rod and line, and a bag of worms.