"I know her boxes are all packed," pursued Stiffy hopefully, "because I went and sat on the lids myself after lunch. Perhaps she will come out for half-an-hour before tea. Dad and Tony won't be back from Tilney till seven, so they are no good." "Well, run along, little man," said Nicky, closing her eyes. "I'm fed up with you." Stiffy departed obediently, and for ten minutes his younger sister reclined in her hammock, her sinful little soul purged for the moment of evil intent against any man. When next she opened her eyes Stiffy was standing disconsolately before her. "Go away," said Nicky faintly. "We have no empty bottles or rabbit-skins at present. If you call round about Monday we shall be emptying the dustbin----" "Cilly's not there," said Stiffy. "Keziah thinks she has gone out for a walk. She saw her strolling down towards the Den half-an-hour ago." "_The Den?_" Nicky's eyes suddenly unclosed to their full radius. "My che-ild! So _that's_ the game! _That_ was why the pale young curate was jumping fences. Ha, _ha_! Stiffy, would you like some fun?" Stiffy, mystified but docile, assented. "We are going," announced Nicky, rolling gracefully out of the hammock, "to stalk a brace of true lovers." "What--Mr Blunt and Cilly? Do you mean----? Are they really keen on each other?" inquired the unobservant male amazedly. "_Are_ they? My lad, it has been written all over them for weeks! I'm not certain, though," continued the experienced Nicky, "that the poor dears are aware of it themselves yet. But to-day is Cilly's last for months, so----" "Do you mean they are down in the Den together?" demanded Stiffy. "I do." "But--Mr Blunt has gone off to do parish work. He told me so himself." "Parish work my foot!" commented Nicky simply. "Come on! Let's go and mark down their trail! We can pretend to be Red Indians, if you like," she added speciously. But the sportsmanlike Stiffy hung back. "Let's play cricket instead," he said hesitatingly. "Not me! Come on!" "Nicky," said Stiffy, searching his hand, so to speak, for trumps, "Preston is killing a pig this afternoon at four o'clock. I've just remembered. He promised not to begin till I came. We shall just be in time. Hurry up!" "I am going," said Nicky firmly, "to stalk that couple. Are you coming?" "No. It's not playing the game," said Stiffy bravely. Nicky, uneasily conscious that he spoke the truth, smiled witheringly. "All right, milksop!" she said. "I shall go by myself. You can go and hold the pig's hand." So they departed on their several errands. * * * * * Meanwhile Cilly and the curate sat side by side beneath a gnarled and venerable oak in Tinkler's Den.