But before lighting it he once more raised his head and shot a suspicious glance down the long green vista which faced him: a faint bluish haze seemed to cling to the over-arching boughs of the hazels. It was not the mist of evening, for it proceeded from a certain point about half-way up the narrow stretch, and, moreover, as Robert gazed, little fresh wreaths came eddying forth to join the ethereal cloud afore-mentioned. Restoring his pipe to his pocket, and catching up his gun, Robert strode off in this direction as rapidly as the narrowness of the path and the breadth of his shoulders would admit of. He had indeed to proceed in a curious sidelong fashion, turning now the right shoulder forward, now the left, so that he looked almost as if he were dancing. The cloud of smoke increased in volume as he advanced, and presently he could actually hear the hissing of flames and the crackling and snapping of twigs; and now bending low, and peering beneath the interlaced branches, he could see the fire itself. A rather large beech-tree stood in the middle of the massed saplings, with a small open space around it. In the centre of this space a fire was burning briskly, and by the side of the fire a girl sat with her elbows resting on her knees and her chin sunk in her hands. Her hat was hung on one of the beech-boughs, and a small open basket lay beside her, from beneath the raised lid of which protruded the brown spout of a teapot. “My word!” said Robert to himself. Lowering his head he made a dive beneath the branches, pushing some aside and breaking down others in his impetuous advance, and in another moment, straightening himself, he stood beside the girl, frowning at her sternly. She raised her head and looked at him with the action and something of the expression of a startled deer; indeed her full dark eyes seemed to carry out the comparison. She was a very pretty girl--so much Robert saw at a first glance, yet the sight of her left him entirely unmollified. “What are you doing here?” he inquired roughly. “You’re trespassin’--d’ye know that? I’ve a good mind to summons ye!” The girl scrambled to her feet; she was slender and tall, her clinging pink cotton gown defining the shapeliness of her form. “I wasn’t doin’ any harm,” she returned with a pout. Robert strode across the intervening space, and kicked wrathfully at the fire which was cunningly composed of sticks and fir-cones. “Oh, don’t!” cried the girl eagerly, “don’t! You’ll spoil my ’taters!” “’Taters indeed!” retorted Robert, but he drew back the great boot which he had uplifted for the second time. “Who gave you leave to come picnicking up here? I s’pose you’re expectin’ a lot more trespassin’ folks same as yourself?” “No,” she said, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I was just a-havin’ a little party for myself--I didn’t think no harm.” “A tea-party all to yourself,” said Formby, and in spite of him, face and voice relaxed, “why, that’s dull work!”