"Oh," said I, "so you were called in to attend on Mrs. Bulliston."
"When I say he has a daughter, I mean a grown-up daughter, not an infant!"
Peterson seemed quite unaccountably ruffled by my innocent remark. I thought of pointing out to him the advantages of habitual clearness of speech, but, on the whole, decided to let him tell his story, for I was really very anxious about Bulliston.
"Well," I said soothingly, "did Miss Bulliston call you in?"
"It might be looked at that way," he said.
"What was the case?"
"A nest of peregrine's eggs near the top of Carslaw Craig."
"Peterson!" I exclaimed, somewhat sternly, "don't forget that I am talking to you seriously!"
But he continued smoking.
"I am perfectly serious," he said, and stopped. After he had thought a while he continued: "It happened at the end of the first week you were away. I had left John at home. I had old Black Bess with me—you know she will stand anywhere. I took the long round, and was coming home a little tired. As I drove past the end of Carslaw Hill, happening to look up I saw something sticking to the sheer face of the cliff like a fly on a wall. At first I could not believe my eyes, for when I came nearer I saw it was a girl. She seemed to be calling for help. So of course I jumped down and tied old Bess to a post by the roadside. Then I began to climb up towards her, but I soon saw that I could not help the girl that way—to do her any good, that is. So I shouted to her to hold on and I would get at her over the top.