“Why, Philip Noble! I never saw you inside of a house in my life,” cried Polly.
“Oh, yes; you’re mistaken. I’ve been obliged to eat most of my meals in the house, and sleep there; but I don’t approve of it, and it’s a trial to be borne with meekness only when there’s no remedy for it.”
“Besides,” said Jack, “even when we are out-of-doors we are shelling the reluctant almond, poisoning the voracious gopher, pruning grape-vines, and ‘sich.’ Now I am only going to shoot to eat, and eat to shoot!”
“Hope you’ve improved since last year, or you’ll have a low diet,” murmured Phil, in an undertone.
“The man of genius must expect to be the butt of ridicule,” sighed Jack, meekly.
“But you’ll not repine, although your heartstrings break, will you?” said Polly, sympathisingly; “especially in the presence of several witnesses who have seen you handle a gun.”
“How glad I am that I’m too near-sighted to shoot,” said Geoffrey, taking off the eye-glasses that made him look so wise and dignified. “I shall lounge under the trees, read Macaulay, and order the meals.”
“I shall need an assistant about the camp,” said Aunt Truth, smilingly; “but I hardly think he’ll have much time to lounge; when everything else fails, there’s always Dicky, you know.”
Geoffrey looked discouraged.
“And, furthermore, I declare by the nose of the great Tam o’ Shanter that I will cut down every tree in the vicinity ere you shall lounge under it,” said Jack.