“I! Clever! Oh, uncle!” said Glynne, laughing.
“I know—I remember,” cried Lucy, eagerly—“stop a moment, I have it.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the major, whose eyes sparkled with pleasure, and he seemed sufficiently animated to set a stranger wondering at an old soldier taking up with enthusiasm so strange a pursuit as that in which he engaged. “There, you don’t know, my dear, but I applaud your brave effort to remember. Someone here would not even try.”
“No, uncle, it is of no use,” said Glynne, quietly, though she evidently took an interest in her companion’s enthusiastic ways.
“I do know,” said Lucy, “and I won’t be told.”
“You don’t,” said the major, banteringly.
“I do,” cried Lucy. “Yes, I have it. It’s an Amanita.”
“Bravo!”
“Amanita Rubescens,” cried Lucy triumphantly; “and if you break it the flesh turns red—there!”
“And she has broken the mushroom in half, and it has not turned red,” said the major, “because she is wrong.”