They went on hand in hand. Twice they hid themselves to avoid meeting peasants, and at last, after several detours, they reached the neighborhood of the caravan.
"Listen," said Saint-Quentin, pausing to listen himself. "Yes. That's what it is—Castor and Pollux fighting as usual, the rascals!"
He dashed towards the sound.
"Saint-Quentin!" cried the young girl. "I forbid you to hit them!"
"You hit them often enough!"
"Yes. But they like me to hit them."
At the approach of Saint-Quentin, the two boys, who were fighting a duel with wooden swords, turned from one another to face the common enemy, howling:
"Dorothy! Mummy Dorothy! Stop Saint-Quentin! He's a beast! Help!"
There followed a distribution of cuffs, bursts of laughter, and hugs.
"Dorothy, it's my turn to be hugged!"