"'Tis no matter! Go—go fetch the ladder, I must not be seen here—go this instant!" The Sergeant went.
Once out of eyeshot my lady sprang up, sped across the orchard, hurled the Ramillie coat over the wall into her own garden and was back in the arbour a full half-minute before the Sergeant re-appeared, ladder on shoulder.
"You dear Sergeant Zeb!" she exclaimed, rising and crossing the orchard beside him. "The bravest soldiers and strongest men are always the kindest and gentlest to women, aren't they?"
"Are they, mam?" said the Sergeant flushing a little as he planted the ladder where she directed.
"To be sure they are," she sighed, gathering up her petticoats, "see how hard you kicked that hateful Jennings——"
"Shall I hold the ladder, my lady?" he enquired, flushing deeper.
"Thank you—no!" she answered and set a slender foot upon the lowest rung. "Sergeant Zebedee!"
"My lady?"
"Right about face!" The Sergeant turned automaton-like and stood so until a laughing voice cried, "Sergeant Zebedee—as you were!" And swinging round he beheld her smiling down at him from her own side of the wall. "Thank you, dear Sergeant Zeb, thank you!" she said, and nodding, vanished from sight.
The Sergeant, being orderly in all things, proceeded to set back the ladder in the tool-house, to dust his coat and re-settle his wig, then crossed to the arbour and stood there for a full minute staring at the empty bench.