"Why did she miss it?" asked Willy. "And what do you mean by dropping her, Jerry?"
Gerald, whose eyes were shining with the excitement of recollection, turned and looked down at his small brother as if suddenly recalling his existence.
"Margaret was—busy!" he said, briefly. "And, I say, Father William, don't you want to take my biky down and give him a feed of oats? he is hungry. See him paw the ground!" and he gave the bicycle a twirl.
"I must go," said Phil, remounting his own. "Come along, Willy, and I'll race you to Camp."
But for once Willy held back. "I was going to take Margaret to see a redwing's nest," he said. "I promised her I would."
"Oh! Margaret will excuse you," said Phil. "Won't you, Margaret? Redwings' nests always look better in the morning, besides. Come on, boy, and I'll tell you all about the game."
Willy still hesitated, looking at Margaret; and she in her turn hesitated, blushing rosy red. "Don't let me keep you, Willy dear," she said. "If you would like to hear about the game—"
"Go on, young un!" said Gerald, in a tone of decision so unlike his usual bantering way, that Willy stared, then yielded; and slowly mounting the bicycle, started off with Phil along the road.
They rode for some time in silence, Phil being apparently lost in thought.
"Well!" said Willy at last, in an injured tone.