"We are going," announced Nicky, rolling gracefully out of the hammock, "to stalk a brace of true lovers."
"What—Mr Blunt and Cilly? Do you mean——? Are they really keen on each other?" inquired the unobservant male amazedly.
"Are they? My lad, it has been written all over them for weeks! I'm not certain, though," continued the experienced Nicky, "that the poor dears are aware of it themselves yet. But to-day is Cilly's last for months, so——"
"Do you mean they are down in the Den together?" demanded Stiffy.
"I do."
"But—Mr Blunt has gone off to do parish work. He told me so himself."
"Parish work my foot!" commented Nicky simply. "Come on! Let's go and mark down their trail! We can pretend to be Red Indians, if you like," she added speciously.
But the sportsmanlike Stiffy hung back.
"Let's play cricket instead," he said hesitatingly.
"Not me! Come on!"