Thus adjusted in my mind, I was on the brink of heaving him overboard, when with a touch of protest Peg stayed my arm. “No,” she cried, “let him go free.” “But a moment gone,” I remonstrated, “and you were calling for murder with all its inconveniences. Now you interpose to stop a mighty proper punishment, for, I bethink me, it has been custom to duck spies in every age.” “Still, you must let him go,” cried Peg. “I will not have you touch him.” And she seized my hand with her little fingers. With that I threw the caitiff creature on the grass; whereupon he rolled to his knees and extended his palms towards Peg. There was something to roil me in the attitude, and to end that I pushed him over with my foot. “Be off,” I cried. “And you are to thank this lady for your dry clothes. You had been splashing among the lily-pads except for her.” Without retort, he scrambled to his soles and was gone like some foul shadow. His absence, of itself, relieved me, for the sight of him was like a blot. “He would not resist, and so I made you let him go,” said Peg. “You would have it safe for cowards,” I returned. “It wasn't for that creature!” exclaimed Peg. She seemed to scorn me for a dullard. “No; it was for you. I would not have such a memory--you, punishing an unresisting beast!” We were for a second time on our way, Peg now holding my arm with her two hands and laying her cheek against it like a child. I could tell by that how this bushwhacking rogue had fluttered her not a little. At last she lifted her face, and I could, even in the pitch darkness, catch the deep glow of her eyes. “And after all, for what should you think he spied upon us? What should he hope to find?” “Indeed, that is beyond me,” I replied. “But the very wicked are often very foolish too.” “To follow so right a character as yourself, watch-dog, is for a spy to waste his strength.” Peg spoke in a droll way of laughter. “Why, then, I may say I emulate the virtuous Drusus, who commanded the architect to so build his house that all who would might behold every act of his life.” I must tell you I had studied the classics in my youth, and would like at times to flourish with a scrap or two. I was no pedant to show off my learning, only a tag or two from Ovid or Horace on occasion, and just enough to suggest what a deal I had forgot. “And your Drusus would so live as to hide nothing.” Peg was still stifling a laugh. “How very admirable! And what was the end of your memorable Drusus?” “As to that,” I retorted, puzzled and put about by the satirical toss she gave to her queries, “as to that, I believe the people stoned him to death.”