"DON'T LOOK SO SCARED, CHILD! WE ARE NOT HUNTING YOU."
"Why! why! why!" uttered the Major. "Flea, is it you? What are you skulking in the corner for like an old hare in a hollow? Don't look so scared, child! We are not hunting you."
She was pulling herself up. She had been sitting with one foot doubled under her, and it had gone to sleep. She dropped a courtesy, first to the Major, then to his companion.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't s'pose anybody would be here. I've often been here before. To read all alone, you know. Mother doesn't mind."
"What book is that?—the Bible?"
"No, sir; Shakespeare."
"So-ho-o!" The Major reached a long arm over the upper bench and brought up a large book that had lost the outer covers, the fly-leaves, and the title-page. "Where did this come from?"
"Father bought it at Mr. Harrison's sale, year before last. One back was off, and he said I might have it."
"And you've read the other back off since? How far have you got in it?"
"I've been through it twice and a half times."