Part 18 (1/2)
”Oh, is it dead? Have you killed it? But it's horrid, you know--quite horrible! A big strong man like you, and that poor little fish--”
”Not little at all! It's a good six-pounder,” protested the fisherman, quick to defend his sport against depreciation. ”No--he's not dead yet, but he soon will be. I will just--”
”Wait! Wait! Let me get out of the way.” Margot flew with her fingers in her ears, then pulled them out to cry--”Is it done? Is it over? Can I come back?”
”Yes; it is all right. I've put him in my bag. You will appreciate him better in his table guise. I'll take him back as a peace-offering to Mrs McNab, for her own evening meal. We have already had our share at the pic--”
Suddenly his hands fell to his sides, he straightened himself, and turned his eyes upon her, filled with puzzle and dismay.
”The pic--”
”--Nic!” concluded Margot faintly. Rosy red were her cheeks; a weight as of lead pressed on her eyelids, dragging them down, down, beneath his gaze. ”I--I--_forgot_! We were to have gone to find them! Do you suppose they are--hiding still?”
He laughed at that, though in somewhat discomfited fas.h.i.+on.
”Rather not! Given us up long ago. It must be getting on for an hour.
I can't think how I came to forget--”
Margot glanced at him shyly beneath her curling lashes.
”It was the fis.h.!.+ A fisherman can't be expected to remember anything when he is landing a trout!” she suggested soothingly. Nevertheless she remembered with a thrill of joy that his forgetfulness had dated back to a time when there had been no fish in prospect. ”Do you suppose they have gone home?”
”We will go and see. From that mound over there we can overlook the path to the inn. Perhaps we had better keep a little in the background!
It would be as well that they should not see us, if they happened to look up--”
If it were possible to feel a degree hotter, Margot felt it at that moment, as she followed George Elgood up the little hillock to the right, and, pausing just short of the top, peered stealthily around. A simultaneous exclamation broke from both lips; simultaneously they drew back, and crouched on their knees to peer over the heather.
There they went!--straggling in a row in the direction of the inn, the party of revellers who had been so basely deserted.
First, the clergyman, with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent in thought; a pensive reveller, this, already beginning to repent a heavy, indigestible meal; next, Mrs Macalister, holding her skirts in characteristic fas.h.i.+on well up in front and sweeping the ground behind; a pace or two in the rear, her spouse, showing depression and weariness in every line of his body. Yet farther along the two young men carrying the empty hampers; last of all, at quite a little distance from the rest, the figure of the Chieftain stepping out with a tread even more conspicuously jaunty than usual, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head turned from side to side, as if curiously scanning the hillsides.
At one and the same moment Margot and the Editor ducked their heads, and scrambled backwards for a distance of two or three yards. There was a moment's silence, then instinctively their eyes met. Margot pressed her lips tightly together, George Elgood frowned, but it was all in vain; no power on earth could prevent the mischievous dimples from dipping in her cheeks; no effort could hide the twinkle in his eyes--they buried their heads in their hands, and shook with laughter!
When at last composure was regained, George Elgood pulled his watch from his pocket, glanced at the time, and cried eagerly--
”There is still an hour before we need be back for dinner. As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Let us go back to the river, and try our luck once more!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
A TELEGRAM.
It was a very shamefaced Margot who made her appearance at the dinner- table that evening; but, to her unspeakable relief, she found that there was no cause for embarra.s.sment. Instead of the meaning glances and joking remarks which she had dreaded, she was greeted with the ordinary kindly prosaic welcome, and not even Mrs Macalister herself ventured an innuendo. The Chieftain was the only one who alluded to the non- appearance of the searchers, and the manner in which he did so was a triumph of the commonplace.
”Muddled up that hide-and-seek finely, didn't we?” he cried cheerily.
”Afraid you had all your trouble for nothing. I happened to catch a glimpse of you heading off in the wrong direction, so turned into 'It'
myself, and rooted them all out of their lairs. Then we played some sensible, middle-aged, sitting-down games, and strolled home in time for a siesta before dinner. Very good picnic, I call it. Great success!
We'll have another, one of these fine days.”