"For a frivolous and fashionable girl who dances cotillions, drives four, plays polo, and reviews her serious adorers by regiments, you're rather perplexing," he said. "Of course you don't suppose that I really believe all you say about these beasts and birds and butterflies."
"What has disturbed your credulity?" she laughed.
"Well, that rabbit which crossed ahead, for one thing. You promptly called it a marsh rabbit!"
"Lepus palustris" she nodded, delighted.
"By all means," he retorted, pretending offensive scepticism, "but why a marsh rabbit?"
"Because, monsieur, its tail was brown, not white. Didn't you notice that?"
"Oh, it's all very well for you to talk that way, but I've another grievance. All these holes in the sand you call gopher burrows sometimes, sometimes salamander holes. And I saw a thing like a rat run into one of them and a thing like a turtle run into another and I think I've got you now—"
Her delightful laughter made the forest silence musical.
"You poor boy! No wonder your faith is strained. The Crackers call the gopher a salamander, and they also call the land turtle a gopher. Their burrows are alike and usually in the same neighbourhood."
"Well, what I want to know is where you had time to learn all this?" he persisted.