“No, no, we won’t bully him,” cried several voices.
Comforted by these assurances, the infants set off to fetch Gaston. They found him sitting disconsolately amongst the long grass. Tired of boar-hunting all by himself, he was playing with an ugly, unsavoury looking toad.
So the children’s invitation to join their game in the wood was acceptable, though his face betrayed some alarm when Gaston understood that he was to play with all the big boys and girls too.
“But we’re all going to be ever, ever so kind to you,” said Hubert.
Thus re-assured, he consented to come. Indeed the prospect of a real good romp soon raised his spirits and voice too, to such a pitch of volubility, that Phil declared that he could hear Monsieur Frog chattering “like a vanful of monkeys” before either he or the infants came in sight.
“Here he is, here’s Gaston,” announced the latter, with a note of pride in their voice, bred of a certain sense of proprietorship in the small foreigner.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Grenouille,” began Andrew.
But Gaston did not heed him. His good manners might have put his new acquaintance to shame.
Pulling off his cap, he fan straight to Faith, attracted by her gentle face, and standing bare-headed before her, executed the most perfect bow.
(“With his feet in the first position,” Di sneered, “and his hands hanging straight at his sides.”)