“What are you doing there?”
“Birds’-nesting,” said the boy, promptly.
“You won’t find any eggs this month of the year.”
“Oh, sha’n’t I!”
“No, the birds are fledged.”
“Some of them sit twice,” quoth Sparkin, determined neither to be corrected nor to be crushed, though he had been caught at such a disadvantage.
There was a stone bench at the western end of the yew alley, and Barbara, leaving Sparkin skied by his own conceit, walked on and sat down on the bench, knowing that the best way to hurt a boy is to ignore him. But Sparkin was out on no vainglorious adventure. He had nearly been tempted to interest himself in his master’s affairs, for it was a new experience for the youngster to watch this king of the quarter-deck dipping his flag to a thing in a petticoat.
Therefore, Sparkin came scuffling down the tree as soon as he discovered that his ambuscade had failed, and, pushing his way between the yews and a high brick wall, disappeared in the direction of the house.
Making a bolt for the doorway leading into the tennis-court, he ran full tilt into a gentleman as he rounded the corner, and that gentleman being none other than Captain Gore himself, he took Master Sparkin playfully by the ear, concluding that the boy had been in mischief, and that vengeance in some shape or form followed at his heels.
“Hallo! what are you running for?”