"When you are digging graves, Mr Robert, do you never see a ghost?" she asked. "No," he said. "Nothin' more'n a few ole bones." "Ugh?" the girl exclaimed. "There's naught to mind in bones," Robert returned. "They couldn't put theirselves together again, anyway, because parts of 'em would be missin'. But the first lot I 'eaved up turned my stummick, sure. A man gets used to it." Peggy had a feeling that she had had enough of Robert's society for one day, and, having come to a stile where an inviting lane branched off from the fields, she inquired of him where it led. "It takes 'ee past the back o' Mr Musgrave's house," he answered. "Oh," said Peggy, "then I think I am going that way. Thank you very much for seeing me past the danger." She parted from Robert joyfully, and set off with Diogenes down the muddy roadway between its tall green banks. "We are going to see the back of the fossil's dwelling; now for adventure number two, Diogenes," she said. CHAPTER TWELVE. Peggy was fond of boasting that adventures usually met her on her walks abroad. It is a peculiar conceit with some people to believe that things happen for them. To the imaginative person the unexpected event befalls, and signifies considerably more than it would signify to the person of a practical mind. The adult of Peggy's temperament never grows away from the fairyland of make-believe which usually is considered the sole prerogative of childhood. There is a wonderland for grown people, but not many dwell in it. Peggy dwelt in it, which was one reason why she always derived enjoyment from her country rambles with Diogenes. But on this particular afternoon the adventures which befell Peggy were less agreeable than exciting. The encounter with the bulls had ended comfortably as a result of the opportune appearance of a knight-errant in the form of Robert; the second adventure had a less agreeable termination, possibly because no knight-errant arrived upon the scene, save in a laggard fashion which was in the nature of an anti-climax. Diogenes was directly responsible in both instances for everything which occurred. It was unusual for Diogenes to make himself a nuisance; possibly the Moresby air was too exhilarating for him. When Peggy reached the end of the lane and emerged upon Mr Musgrave's back entrance she paused and looked about her, less from a sense of curiosity than a sudden realisation that the lane was a _cul-de-sac_, and unless she could brace herself to make the return journey by the way she had come, and face again the dangers from which Robert had rescued her, only to leave her basely in the lurch outside the back gate of the dwelling-house of a respectable, fossilised bachelor, she would be forced to make use of the tradesmen's entrance--the notice was painted neatly on the gate--and pass through Mr Musgrave's garden.