"Take the path to the stream, Toory. Then we can come back the other way—around the hill."
"Yes, Miss Babs," Toory said.
They had walked here many times, and it was easy not to do it wrong. Toory followed the road until they reached the rocky hill that lay beyond it. The stream roared as it tumbled through the ravine where the swaying catwalk swing-bridge dangled from a dizzy height across the cliff-tops. Here in the open it was placidly babbling over moss-covered stones.
He remembered how Miss Babs had told him that the little brook was always happy here, because it laughed all the time. At the stream edge she sat down in the sunlight, and motionless under wait-command Toory stood pridefully at her side.
A big flyer was faintly roaring as it passed high overhead. The red eye-beams of Toory's gaze streamed up to it, but he didn't have to be alert, because it wasn't dangerous to Miss Babs. Presently he heard footsteps approaching and recognized the tread of Higgins. He had been aware of the sound very faintly behind him almost all the way from the house.
Then Higgins came in sight. He walked straight past Toory toward Miss Babs. "Nice afternoon, Miss Babs," he said.
"Oh—is that you, Higgins," the blind girl asked.
"That it is, Ma'am. My day off, you know. A chap can do with a bit of walking outdoors now and then."
"Yes, it's a beautiful day, Higgins," Miss Babs agreed.
The steward's slim, wiry body was clad in a white-striped blue suit, and he wore a high stiff collar, and a red necktie. He had no hat, so that the summer breeze was ruffling his thin, sandy hair. He lingered, standing beside Babs with a cigarette dangling from his lips.