Colin and Andrew possessed a “mashie” each, and a game of “putting golf.” It was reserved for Sunday afternoons as being of a quiet and decorous nature.
But one Sunday afternoon Andrew forgot to “putt,” and gave his ball a drive that lifted it high over the wall into the next garden. Now, the wall was too high to climb; besides, the fear of Mr. Knagg was upon them, and the housekeeper was out—they had seen her go. They had only two balls, and it was yet a long two hours off teatime. Father and mother were both out. They retired to consult Jean under the trees.
“If he wasn’t such an old beast, I’d go and ask for it myself,” growled Andrew.
“You wouldn’t get it if you did,” said Colin the practical.
“Why shouldn’t Jean go? He’d give it to her,” suggested Andrew, who had noted the weakness of his sex where Jean was concerned.
“Of course he would. You must go, Jean. Hurry up!”
“What, all on my lonely?” exclaimed Jean in pained astonishment.
“Oh, we’ll come with you to the door and ring the bell for you, and then cut away before he can open it. Then you ask him nicely. Come on, Jean!”
She seldom long opposed her brothers. She had what Elspeth called a “tender head,” and strongly objected to having her hair pulled. Between them they marched her up the flagged path to Mr. Knagg’s front door, rang loudly, and departed precipitately.
Maighda, the great deerhound who shared with Elspeth the guardianship of Jean, rose from amidst the company of dolls, where she had been reposing, and walking gravely into the front garden, jumped the iron fence, and joined Jean at the top of the steps.