And as Elinor stepped forth from behind a neighboring tree, there was a look in her eyes that caused the skilful deceiver to bow his head. With a slight movement of the hands, the palms turned outward, as if in surrender, he offered a mute appeal for mercy.
“So you are that quail!” And slowly up and down she moved her head as if realizing with reluctance the bitterness of the discovery. “What fun you must have had in fooling me so often and so easily! And the many times that I have hurried to that door and waited to hear it again! What was my offence that you should pay me back in such a fashion?”
“Oh, don’t put it that way! Don’t speak like that!”
“And my sentiment about it! My saying that I loved the sound because it took me back to my own home in Massachusetts–all that must have been very amusing.”
“And to keep on making me ridiculous, day after day, when I was on the verge of collapse from pure exhaustion–yes, it showed a nice feeling.”
“Elinor, you are very unjust. Let me tell you just how it happened. The first morning that I could walk as far as this, you left me here at this very spot, and you went back to the house. I was told to whistle if I wanted anything. You remember?”
Almost perceptibly and with contempt she nodded.
“Well, when I did whistle, I whistled in that way–like a quail. You thought it was a real quail and you didn’t come out. When finally you helped me back you spoke of hearing a quail, and of how much pleasure it gave you. You hoped he would not go away.” And he smiled humbly, as he added: “And you made me promise not to shoot him.”
She merely turned her eyes away, over the river, toward the sunset.