He knew his way about the lower regions of the Rectory, and he began a systematic search forthwith.  She was not, however, to be very readily found.  He glanced into all the downstairs rooms without success.  He was, in fact, on the point of regretfully abandoning his efforts on the supposition that she had retreated to her own room when her voice rang suddenly down the back stairs.  She was calling agitatedly for help.

It was enough for Bertie.  He tore up the stairs with lightning speed, boldly announcing his advent as he went.

He found her at the top of the house in an old cupboard used for storing fruit.  She was mounted upon a crazy pair of steps that gave signs of imminent collapse, and to save herself from the catastrophe that this would involve she was clinging to the highest shelf with both hands.

“Be quick!” she cried to him.  “Be quick!  I’m slipping every second!”

The words were hardly uttered before the steps gave a sudden loud crack and fell from beneath her with a crash.  But in the same instant Bertie sprang in and caught her firmly round the knees.  He proceeded with much presence of mind to seat her on his shoulder.

“That’s all right.  I’ve got you,” he said cheerily.  “None the worse, eh?  What are you trying to do?  May as well finish before you come down.”

Dot seemed for a moment inclined to resent the support thus jauntily given, but against her will her sense of humour prevailed.

She uttered a muffled laugh.  “I’m getting apples for dessert.”

“All in your Sunday clothes!” commented Bertie.  “That comes of procrastination—­the fatal British defect.”

“I hate people who hustle,” remarked Dot, hoping that her hot cheeks were not visible at that altitude.

“Meaning me?” said Bertie, settling himself for an argument.

“Oh, I suppose you can’t help it,” said Dot, filling her basket with feverish speed.  “You Americans are all much too greedy to wait for anything.  Am I very heavy?”

“Not in the least,” said Bertie.  “I like being sat on now and then.  I admit the charge of greed but not of impatience.  You misjudge me there.”

At this point a large apple dropped suddenly upon his upturned face and, having struck him smartly between the eyes, fell with a thud to the ground.

Bertie said “Damn!” but luckily for Dot he did not budge an inch.

“I beg your pardon,” he added a moment later.

“What for?” said Dot.

“For swearing,” he replied.  “I forgot you didn’t like it.”

“Oh!” said Dot; and after a pause, “Then I beg yours.”

“Did you do it on purpose?” he asked curiously.

“I want to get down, please,” said Dot.

He lowered her from his shoulder to his arms with perfect ease, set her on the ground, and held her fast.

“Dot,” he said, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, “if you’re going to be violent, I guess I shall be violent too.”