He would stand beneath the green tower, and call to her:—
"Hallo, there! you young rascal, come down! How dare you rob birds' nests in my woods?"
The voice was deep and stern, and Hildegarde started so violently that she nearly fell from her perch. She could not speak for the moment, but she looked down, and saw a fierce-looking old gentleman, clad in a black velvet coat and spotless white trousers, brandishing a thick stick, and peering with angry, short-sighted eyes up into the tree.
"Come down, I say!" he repeated sternly. "I'll teach you to rob my nests, you young vagabond!"
This was really not to be endured.
"I am not robbing the nest, sir!" cried Hildegarde, indignation overcoming her alarm. "I never did such a thing in my life. And I—I am not a boy!"
"Harry Monmouth!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I beg ten thousand pardons! What are you?"
Hildegarde's first impulse was to say that she lived in Alaska (that being the most distant place she could think of), and was on her way thither; but fortunately the second thought came quickly, and she replied with as much dignity as the situation allowed:—
"I am the daughter of Mrs. Hugh Grahame. I live at Braeside" (I have forgotten to mention that this was the name of the new home), "and have wandered off our own grounds without knowing it. I am extremely sorry to be trespassing, but—but—I only wanted to see what kind of nest it was."