No sooner had they gone when Sarah sought the library.
"I should like to see the woman that has the brass to send her photograph to him," her thoughts ran. Despite the General's sixty-six years and his distaste for feminine society Sarah was constantly apprehensive lest he fall a victim to some wily woman's charms. "I've had trouble enough with him," she was wont to say, as though she had helped him through love-affairs innumerable!
It was with anything but agreeable emotions, therefore, that she took Miss Celia's photograph between her thumb and finger, holding it as if she expected something to rub off, and looked at it earnestly.
"Um," said Sarah, when her inspection was over, and she left the room without further comment. A little later she added, "It's his mother over again!"
"Where are we going, Uncle Harold?" May asked, as they walked briskly through the grounds.
"To the stables."
"What is he going to do to me?" May thought, ruefully.
When they reached the stable the General went to a glass case which held—horrors to relate!—a fine collection of fire-arms. Selecting two rifles, the General, with an inviting smile, extended one towards May. If there was anything that our little heroine in the hero's guise was really afraid of it was a rifle, or, indeed, arms of any kind, and her involuntary shrinking did not escape the General's eye.
"Why don't you take it?" he asked, with the nearest approach to sharpness that he had displayed since they had become "friends."