Well, it was no use making a fuss before a score of curious eyes, so for the next half-hour we stood side by side, selling tickets, explaining the rules of the Hunt, marshalling the seekers in readiness for the signal to start. He is capable enough, I will say that for him, and has a patent knack of silencing garrulous questioners. It was the funniest thing in the world to stand at the end of the lawn, and watch these rustic backs—young, old, and fat middle-aged—all poised on one leg, swaying to and fro, straining to be off! Excruciatingly funny to watch the stampede, after the loud “One—two—three—and away!” The plunges, the waddles, the skelter of flying heels! One might have thought the gold of Klondyke was hidden in the kitchen garden. I laughed, and laughed, in a good old Irish paroxysm of merriment, until the tears rolled down my cheeks. Mr Maplestone stared, turned on his heel, and stalked away.
I strolled back to the upper lawn, and the first person I saw was old General Underwood sitting in his bath-chair, which had been drawn under the shade of a tree, so that he might see everything, and yet be well out of the way. He was too much out of the way, poor old dear! to judge by his looks, and agreeably pleased to see my approach.
“Well, young lady, and how are you to-day? You look very fresh and charming!”
“That’s very nice of you, General! I do like to be admired. Isn’t this rather a dull corner for you? Wouldn’t you like to be moved?”
He looked around with his old, blue eyes.
“Everyone seems to have gone. There was quite a crowd here a few minutes ago. I sent my man to the village to post some letters.”
“We can manage without him. There is a Treasure Hunt going on at the other end of the garden. That is why this part is so empty. Mrs Merrivale has hidden a lot of parcels among the trees and shrubs, and everyone who pays a shilling can go and search for a treasure.”
“Ha!” His face lit up with the hunting instinct, which seems dormant in us all. “Treasures—I see! A good idea. Worth more, I presume, than the entrance shilling?”
“Oh, much, much more.” The pride of the donor sounded in my voice; then I looked at the poor, old, tired, wistful face, and had a brilliant idea. “General, shall we go hunting—you and I? I’ll push and you’ll steer, and we’ll both look, and if it’s a man’s present, it’s yours, and if it’s a woman’s, it’s mine, and if it’s neutral, we’ll toss! They’ve only just started, so we’re in time.”
He gripped the handle involuntarily, then loosened it to say:—