Above the sand-patch rose a steep bank, clothed with trees and underwood. She stood, her head thrown back, meditating an assault. She dearly loved climbing, and nobody was at hand to protest, except one who owned no right of protestation. She believed herself to be alone. Wiggles knew better; and for a second time he ran to inspect the intruder. A second time he decided that it was no case for a rousing alarum. He was a dog of discrimination. Phyllys pursued her soliloquy in a voice which, though subdued, was full and bell-toned. "On the whole I don't wish to be anybody else. But that is not to say that I would not rather be 'Somewhere' else! Wiggles—" and she broke into energy—"how I long—long—to get away! Right away—from everything and everybody! I feel as if I were shut up in prison for evermore—never to see, never to know, never to reach beyond this little round. I want things different—and people to understand." She stopped to pat the dog, and he squirmed in rapturous response. "One thing is clear," she remarked aloud. "I can't and I won't go to the meeting this evening. I'm old enough to judge for myself, though Barbara does treat me like a child. I'm not in the mood, and it never does me any good. I'll play truant till Grannie and Barbara are off—let the consequences be what they may." The features of her unknown spectator relaxed with amusement. He was about to make a forward move, when checked by a spring on her part. She went lightly up the bank, as a sailor might have done, and swung herself into the branches of a medium-sized tree. He drew back, fearing to startle her if she should glance round in the midst of her acrobatic feat. She settled herself on the fork of a bough, leant against the trunk, and sighed with content. "This is something like! Imagine exchanging it for the stuffy schoolroom, and all the 'Ha's' and 'Ho's' and 'Hi's,'—worse still for Miss Robins and Mr. Timkins. Ah, Wiggles, my dear, if you knew what it was to have to do with a Timkins—and 'such' a Timkins!" By this time her audience was smiling outright, though less easily moved to a smile than some men. The bough on which she rested gave a creak. "I say!—I mustn't stay long. But it is delicious. Why does one grow too old to do what one likes?" Silence was broken by the trills of a wren, pouring forth its little heart in song. A cricket chirped, and a large bumble-bee swung heavily by, and a dragonfly with iridescent wings swept to and fro in dashes after his prey. "Wough!" objected Wiggles, feeling himself in the lurch. "Hold your tongue, Wiggles. I'm coming soon."