“But Bras—” she said; and with that she caught the leash with both her hands.
“Bras won’t mind them if you keep him quiet. I suppose you can manage him better than I can. I wish we had brought a whip.”
“I would rather let him kill every deer in the Park than touch him with a whip,” said Sheila proudly.
“You fearful creature, you don’t know what you say. That is high treason. If George Ranger heard you he would have you hanged in front of the Star and Garter.”
“Who is George Ranger?” said Sheila with an air, as if she had said, “Do you know that I am the daughter of the King of Borva, and whoever touches me will have to answer to my papa, who is not afraid of any George Ranger?”
“He is a great lord who hangs all persons who disturb the deer in this Park.”
“But why do they not go away?” said Sheila, impatiently. “I have never seen any deer so stupid. It is their own fault if they are disturbed; why do they remain so near to people and to houses?”
“My dear child, if Bras wasn’t here you would probably find some of those deer coming up to see if you had any bits of sugar or pieces of bread about your pockets.”
“Then they are like sheep—they are not like deer,” she said, with some contempt. “If I could only tell Bras that it is sheep he will be looking at, he would not look any more. And so small they are! They are as small as the roe, but they have horns as big as many of the red deer. Do people eat them?”
“I suppose so.”