“Come to look for whom?” Amy was very angry, for she thought that it was herself, under Eoaʼs strategy. “A horrid little white mole.” “A white mole! Why, I had no idea that there was such a thing.” “Oh yes, there is: but it is very rare; and he has set his heart upon catching this one.” “That he shanʼt. Oh, I see exactly what to do. Come quickly, for fear he should catch it before we get there. Oh, I do hate such cruelty. Ah, there, I see him! Now, you keep out of sight.” In a sunny break of tufted sward, embayed among long waves of wood, young Bob Garnet sat, more happy than the king of all the world of fairies. At his side lay several implements of his own devising, and on his lap a favourite book with his open watch upon it. From time to time he glanced away at a chain of little hillocks about twenty yards in front of him, and among which he had stuck seven or eight stout hazel rods, and brought them down as benders. He was trying not only to catch his mole, but also to add another to his many observations as to the periods of molar exertion. Whether nature does enforce upon those clever miners any Three Hour Act, as the popular opinion is; or whether they are free to work and rest, at their own sweet will, as seems a world more natural. Amy walked into the midst of the benders, in her self–willed, characteristic manner, as if they were nothing at all. She made believe to see nought of Bob, who, on the other side of the path was fluttering and blushing, with a mixture of emotions. “Some very cruel person,” she exclaimed, in loud self–commune, “probably a cruel boy, has been setting mole–traps here, I see. And papa says the moles do more good than harm, except perhaps in my flower–beds. Now Iʼll let them all off very quietly. The boy will think he has caught a dozen; and then how the moles will laugh at him. He will think itʼs a witch, and leave off, very likely, for all cruel boys are ignorant. My pretty little darlings; so glossy, and so clever!” “Oh, please not to do that,” cried Bob, having tried in vain to contain himself, and now leaping up in agony; “I have taken so much trouble, and they are set so beautifully.” “What, Master Robert Garnet! Oh, have you seen my companion, Miss Nowell, about here?” “Look there, you have spoiled another! And theyʼll never set so well again. Oh, you canʼt know what they are, and the trouble I have had with them.” “Oh yes, Master Garnet, I know what they are; clumsy and cruel contrivances to catch my innocent moles.” “_Your_ moles!” cried Bob, with great wrath arising, as she coolly destroyed two more traps; “why are they _your_ moles, I should like to know? I donʼt believe you have ever even heard of them before.” “Suppose I have not?” answered Amy, screwing up her lips, as she always did when resolved to have her own way. “Then how can they be your moles? Oh, if you havenʼt spoiled another!”