"Well, what is it, Belted Will?"
"I thought you were going to tell me about the game," said Willy, moodily. "I say, Phil! I think it was awfully rude of you and Jerry to yank me off that way, when I had promised Margaret to take her somewhere, and we were going straight there when you came along and broke in. I don't think that's any kind of way to do, and I am sure Ma would say so, too. What do you suppose Margaret thinks of me now?"
"Ri tum ti tum ti tido!" carolled Phil. "What do I suppose she thinks of you, Belted One? Why, she thinks you are one of the nicest boys she ever saw; and so you are, when not in doleful dumps. See here, old chap! you'll be older before you are younger, and some day you will know a hawk from a handsaw, or hernshaw, according to which reading of 'Hamlet' you prefer. And now as to this game!"
He plunged into a detailed account of the great match, and soon Willy's eyes were sparkling, and his cheeks glowing, and he had forgotten all about Margaret and the redwing's nest.
But as they crested the hill, which on the other side dipped down to the camp, Phil glanced back along the road. Margaret and Gerald were walking slowly, deep in talk, and did not see the wave of his hand. "Heigh, ho!" said Phil; but he smiled even while he sighed.
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE DOWN
One afternoon, when most of the campers were off fishing, Margaret wandered alone up to the top of the great down behind the camp. Thoroughly in love with the camp life as she was, in most of its aspects, she could not learn to care for fishing. To sit three, four, five hours in a boat, on the chance of killing a harmless and beautiful creature, did not, she protested, appeal to her; and many a lively argument had she had on the subject with Bell and Gertrude, who were ardent fisher-maidens.
"But, Margaret, it is the sport!" Bell would cry. "It isn't just killing, it is sport!"