"You dear old thing!" she cried. "I know you'll look after him and make him comfortable and—how old is Miss Letitia?"
"Something over fifty and Aggie Pilkington's about the same, although she won't admit it."
She kissed me again at that, and after looking at her wrist watch she jumped to her feet.
"Heavens!" she said. "It's four o'clock and my engine has been running all this time!"
She got a smart little car from somewhere up the road, and the last I saw of her she was smiling back over her shoulder and the car running on the edge of a ditch.
"You are three darlings!" she called back. "And tell Percy I love him—love him—love him!"
I thought I'd never get back to the lake. I was tired to begin with, and after I'd gone about four miles and was limping with a splinter in my heel and no needle to get it out with, I found I still had the fungus message to the spring-wagon person under my arm.
It was dark when I got back and my nerves were rather unstrung, what with wandering from the path here and there, with nothing to eat since morning, and running into a tree and taking the skin off my nose. When I limped into camp at last, I didn't care whether Percy lived or died, and the thought of rabbit stew made my mouth water.
It was not rabbit, however. Aggie was sitting alone by the fire, waving a brand round her head to keep off mosquitoes, and in front of her, dangling from the spit, were a dozen pairs of frogs' legs in a row.
I ate six pairs without a question and then I asked for Tish.