Archie was following the parental boot with anxious eyes. The tin duck was dinted in on one side, and bulged out on the other in a manner painful to behold. It would certainly never swim again. The turn of the squirt might come any moment. But when his father began to say damn, Archie had always found it better not to interfere.
"Come along, Archie," said Colonel Tempest, furiously, "don't stand fooling there," and he began to mount the path with redoubled energy. All thought of turning back was forgotten.
Archie looked back ruefully at the devastated pleasure-grounds. The fir cone boundary was knocked over at one corner. All privacy was lost; anything might get in now, and the duck, if she recovered, could get out. It was much to be regretted.
"Poor damn John," said Archie, slipping his hand into that of the grown-up child whom he had for a father.
"Poor John!" echoed Colonel Tempest, his temper evaporating a little, "I only wish it were poor John; and not poor Archie. That was your garden, Archie, do you hear, my boy—yours, not his. And you shall have it, too, if I can get it for you."
"I don't want it now," said Archie, gravely; "you've spoilt it."
