“There is a good deal to like in flowers besides the smell,” said Barret, assuming an instructive tone, which Junkie resented on the spot.
“Oh, yes, I don’t want to know; you needn’t try to teach me,” he said, firmly.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t think of teaching you, my boy. You know I’m not a schoolmaster. I’m not clever enough for that, and when I was your age, I hated to be taught. But I could show you some things about flowers and plants that would astonish you. Only it would not be safe to do it just now, for the deer might come up and—”
“No they won’t,” interrupted the boy; “it’s a monstrous big wood they’ve got to pass through before they can come here, so we have time to look at some of the ’stonishin’ things.”
“Well, then, come. We will just go a little way up the cliff.”
Leading Junkie away among the masses of fallen rock, which strewed that ledge of the cliff, the wily youth began to examine plants and flowers minutely, and to gradually arouse in the boy’s mind an interest in such parts of botanical science as he was capable of understanding.
Meanwhile the small army of beaters had extended themselves across the distant end of the forest, which, being some miles off, and on the other side of a great shoulder of the mountain, was not only out of sight, but out of hearing of the stalkers who watched the passes of the Eagle Cliff.
All the beaters, or drivers, were well acquainted with the work they had to do, with the exception of Robin Tips, to whom, of course, it was quite new. But Ian Anderson put him under Donald’s care, with strict injunctions to look well after him.
“Now, Tonal’, see that ye don’t draw together an’ git ta–alkin’ so as to forget what ye’re about. Keep him at the right distance away from ye, an’ as much in line as ye can.”
“Oo, ay,” returned ragged head, in a tone that meant, when translated into familiar English, “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs!”