Heigh-ho, says Thimble.”
All had listened intently, and for a moment after the song ceased, no one moved or spoke. Then Croly started up, saying: “I’m bound to see that fellow. Come, Harold and Herbert, will you go with me, or must I search for him alone?”
“Oh, I have no objection to going with you,” returned Harold with a slight laugh. “I hardly think he can be dangerous, and if he is I must try to defend you, Will.”
“And in that case you may stand in need of my services also,” said Herbert, joining them as they hurried down the veranda steps and along the drive in the direction from which the sounds of the bugle and the voice had come.
“I hope they won’t find him a dangerous fellow,” remarked Rosie with a gleeful laugh.
“No, indeed, I hope not,” said Mary Keith, in a slightly anxious tone. “Have you gentlemen any idea who he may be?”
“The bugler, do you mean, cousin?” asked Edward Travilla. “I won’t say certainly, but I have an idea that he is a perfectly harmless old fellow who occasionally haunts this neighborhood.”
“A crazy man?” she asked.
“No, not that, but one who enjoys surprising and mystifying those who know little or nothing about him or his arts.”