Lowering his head he made a dive beneath the branches, pushing some aside and breaking down others in his impetuous advance, and in another moment, straightening himself, he stood beside the girl, frowning at her sternly. She raised her head and looked at him with the action and something of the expression of a startled deer; indeed her full dark eyes seemed to carry out the comparison. She was a very pretty girl—so much Robert saw at a first glance, yet the sight of her left him entirely unmollified.
“What are you doing here?” he inquired roughly. “You’re trespassin’—d’ye know that? I’ve a good mind to summons ye!”
The girl scrambled to her feet; she was slender and tall, her clinging pink cotton gown defining the shapeliness of her form.
“I wasn’t doin’ any harm,” she returned with a pout.
Robert strode across the intervening space, and kicked wrathfully at the fire which was cunningly composed of sticks and fir-cones.
“Oh, don’t!” cried the girl eagerly, “don’t! You’ll spoil my ’taters!”
“’Taters indeed!” retorted Robert, but he drew back the great boot which he had uplifted for the second time.
“Who gave you leave to come picnicking up here? I s’pose you’re expectin’ a lot more trespassin’ folks same as yourself?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I was just a-havin’ a little party for myself—I didn’t think no harm.”
“A tea-party all to yourself,” said Formby, and in spite of him, face and voice relaxed, “why, that’s dull work!”