“Oh, how nice!” said Dora, clapping her hands. “Is it that great, big house with the beautiful grounds, where we went to the picnic last summer?”
“Yes; only you remember I didn’t go. Father doesn’t like the squire very much,” his face clouding for an instant.
“What is the reason he does not like him?” asked Dora, inquisitively.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, only he was very cross last year when I asked if I might go to the squire’s picnic, and I thought he swore about him.”
“I don’t care,” said Dora hotly. “I think he’s a real nice man to give all the children a picnic, and we had a splendid time. I shouldn’t think he’d let you go to-day, if he wouldn’t then.”
“He didn’t know where I was going to-day. I asked if I might take old Prince, and he said yes; but I don’t think there would be any harm in going to see the statuary,” replied Robert, though the hot blood rushed to his face, as if he felt half guilty.
“I don’t think there is any harm, either; but, oh, Robbie, look at that squirrel there!—there he goes, right through the wall.”
“Yes, and there goes its mate. Now they’ve both gone into that hole in that tree.”
“Yes; how cunning they were! I wish you and I were squirrels, with nothing else to do but run around in the sunshine all day, and eat nuts; it must be real fun,” glancing back wistfully toward the place where the squirrels had disappeared.
“Oh, no, Dora, you don’t, either; you forget that if we were squirrels we could not be married, and, you know that some day you are to be my little wife,” replied Robert, looking roguishly at her.