‘It’s just fancy, sir,’ Dering says soothingly. ‘I saw Master Will oiling his bat yesterday.’ ‘Did you?’ avidly. ‘I should have liked to see that. I have often oiled their bats for them. Careless lads, they always forget. Was that nice German boy with him?’ ‘Mr. Karl? Not far off, sir. He was sitting by the bank of the stream playing on his flute; and Miss Barbara, she had climbed one of my apple-trees,--she says they are your trees.’ He lowers. ‘They are, you know, Dering,’ the Colonel says meekly. ‘Yes, sir, in a sense,’ brushing the spurious argument aside, ‘but I don’t like any of you to meddle with them. And there she sat, pelting the two of them with green apples.’ ‘How like her!’ The Colonel shakes his head indulgently. ‘I don’t know how we are to make a demure young lady of her.’ Dering smirks. ‘They say in the village, sir, that Master Will would like to try.’ To the Colonel this is wit of a high order. ‘Ha! ha! he is just a colt himself.’ But the laughter breaks off. He seems to think that he will get the truth if Dering comes closer. ‘Who are all here now, Dering; in the house, I mean? I sometimes forget. They grow old so quickly. They go out at one door in the bloom of youth, and come back by another, tired and grey. Haven’t you noticed it?’ ‘No, sir. The only visitors staying here are Miss Barbara and Mr. Karl. There’s just them and yourselves, sir, you and the mistress and Master Will. That’s all.’ ‘Yes, that’s all,’ his master says, still unconvinced. ‘Who is the soldier, Dering?’ ‘Soldier, sir? There is no soldier here except yourself.’ ‘Isn’t there? There was a nurse with him. Who is ill?’ ‘No one, sir. There’s no nurse.’ Dering backs away from the old man. ‘Would you like me to call the mistress, sir?’ ‘No, she has gone down to the village. She told me why, but I forget. Miss Barbara is with her.’ ‘Miss Barbara is down by the stream, sir.’ ‘Is she? I think they said they were going to a wedding.’ With an old man’s curiosity, ‘Who is being married to-day, Dering?’ ‘I have heard of no wedding, sir. But here is Miss Barbara.’ It is perhaps the first time that Dering has been glad to see Miss Barbara, who romps in, a merry hoyden, running over with animal spirits. ‘Here’s the tomboy!’ the Colonel cries gaily. Barbara looks suspiciously from one to the other. ‘Dering, I believe you are complaining to the Colonel about my watering the flowers at the wrong time of day.’ ‘Aha! Aha!’ The Colonel thinks she is even wittier than Dering, who is properly abashed. ‘I did just mention it, miss.’ ‘You horrid!’ Barbara shakes her mop of hair at the gardener. ‘Dear, don’t mind him. And every time he says they are _his_ flowers and _his_ apples, you tell me, and I shall say to his face that they are _yours_.’