“I’m always ready for the pines,” said Leslie.  “Here, Dakie, I hope you’ll catch a butterfly for every pin.  Oh, now I think of it, have you found your elephant?”

“Yes, half way up the garret-stairs.  I can’t feed him comfortably, Miss Leslie.  He wants to eat incessantly, and the elm-leaves wilt so quickly, if I bring them in, that the first thing I know, he’s out of proper provender and off on a raid.  He needs to be on the tree; but then I should lose him.”

Leslie thought a minute.  “You might tie up a branch with mosquito-netting,” she said.

“Isn’t that bright?  I’ll go right and do it,—­only I haven’t any netting,” said he.

“Mrs. Linceford has.  I’ll go and beg a piece for you.  And then, if you’ll just sit here a minute, I’ll come, Miss Craydocke.”

When she came back, she brought Jeannie with her.  To use a vulgar proverb, Jeannie’s nose was rather out of joint since the Haughtleys had arrived.  Ginevra Thoresby was quite engrossed with them, and this often involved Imogen.  There was only room for six in Captain Green’s wagon, and nothing had been said to Jeannie about the drive to Minster Rock.

Leslie had hanging upon her finger, also, the finest and whitest and most graceful of all possible little splint baskets, only just big enough to carry a bit of such work as was in it now,—­a strip of sheer, delicate grass-linen, which needle and thread, with her deft guidance, were turning into a cobweb border, by a weaving of lace-lines, strong, yet light, where the woof of the original material had been drawn out.  It was “done for odd-minute work, and was better than anything she could buy.”  Prettier it certainly was, when, with a finishing of the merest edge of lace, it came to encircle her round, fair arms and shoulders, or to peep out with its dainty revelation among the gathering treasures of the linen-drawer I told you of.  She had accomplished yards of it already for her holiday work.

She had brought the netting, as she promised, for Dakie Thayne, who received it with thanks, and straightway hastened off to get his “elephant” and a piece of string, and to find a convenient elm-branch which he could convert into a cage-pasture.

“I’ll come round to the pines, afterward,” he said.

And just then,—­Sin Saxon’s bright face and pretty figure showing themselves on the hotel piazza, with a seeking look and gesture,—­Jeannie and Elinor were drawn off also to ask about the tableaux, and see if they were wanted, with the like promise that “they would come presently.”  So Miss Craydocke and Leslie walked slowly round, under the sun-umbrella, to the head of the ledge, by themselves.