“Well, I hardly think I should do worse,” returned Calhoun lightly.
“Then suppose you start out on the quest, find that bugler, and coax him to give us another tune.”
Some soft, low notes came to their ears at that moment, as if in reply; they seemed to issue from the depths of the wood, and the listeners almost held their breath to catch them. As they died away Croly spoke again.
“He seems to have made quite a circuit to escape us; and why on earth should he? for he surely has no reason to fear we would do him harm.”
“Bashful, perhaps,” suggested Edward. “But why care to see him? Is not hearing enough?”
“If Mr. Croly were a woman, I would suggest that he was probably actuated by curiosity,” laughed Mary Keith; “but since he belongs to the other sex, it must be supposed to be something else.”
“Dear me, Miss Keith, who would ever have dreamed you could be so severe? You who belong to the gentler sex?” returned Croly, in a feignedly mortified tone.
“Hark! there he is at it again!” exclaimed Maud Dinsmore, as distant bugle notes once more came softly to the ear. “If you want to catch him, I advise you to hasten in the direction of those sounds, Mr. Croly.”
“Hardly worth while, since he is so adroit at getting out of the way,” sighed Croly, sinking into a chair as if quite exhausted with the efforts already made.
“Never say die, Mr. Croly,” laughed Rosie Travilla. “Gather up your strength and pursue the investigation. ‘Try, try, try again,’ is an excellent motto.”