“They don’t seem to feel things as much as us,” agreed Jinny. “No, indeed.” He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and pocketed it. “Fancy, if you’d got your head nipped like that!” There seemed something aggressive in the suggestion. “_I_ should have known to lift it up without waiting for a man,” she said. “All very well, but when one’s head’s caught, one is apt to lose it: one struggles blindly.” “We’re not all like sheep to go astray,” she said uneasily. “But thank you for your kind help.” She jumped up and drove slowly through the gate. He closed it behind her and ran to open the gate at the opposite end of the private road. “Thank you again,” she said, passing through. “But surely you’ll come into the wood now you’re so near,” he cried through the arch of the vanishing tilt. The cart unexpectedly slackened, Jinny’s head was turned backwards. “If you won’t be long,” she said. He shut the gate briskly and kept pace with her slow progress along the leafy lane towards the wood-path they both knew. Nip, untied, sprang to fawn at his feet, and then bounded into the hedge after something smelt, and barking raucously, wormed his way along like a weasel. “Why didn’t you come, Will?” said Jinny softly. “Why didn’t you?” he evaded. “Why did you send Uncle Lilliwhyte?” “I didn’t come because you didn’t,” she answered simply. “I—I—your grandfather,” he stammered. “I couldn’t well play before him.” “You mean you couldn’t play well,” she flashed. “That’s all you know about it. I can blow better than Dick Burrage.” “Then why be nervous of poor old Gran’fer? He might have been umpire.” He was shocked again. “Good gracious, Jinny! Where did you get those betting words from?” “That’s my affair.” She pursed her pretty lips. “But never mind—however you blow—you’ve deserved a pair of gloves to-day—in sheepskin.” He smiled. “I’m not above taking two pairs.” “If you win!” “Of course I’ll win.” “Don’t brag. Save your breath for your blowing. We shall soon be there.” “Oh, but I’m not going to blow now,” he pointed out. “Not now? Then why have you lured me here?” “But how could I guess I should meet you? How could I lure you? You could see I hadn’t got my horn.” “I hadn’t noticed,” Jinny murmured. “It’s big enough,” he said grimly. “Then I certainly shan’t go into the wood. I’m much too busy. Good-bye, Will.” She flicked her whip, but ere Methusalem could quicken a leg, a terrible yelping came from the bushy hedgerow—it was the voice of Nip, but not of Nip the hunter, rather of a hunted, trapped Nip.