She paid no heed to this reproach, for what were those other things over there underneath the trees?  Bras had pricked up his ears, and there was a strange excitement in his look and in his trembling frame.

“Deer!” she cried, with her eyes as fixed as were those of the dog beside her.

“Well,” said her husband calmly, “what although they are deer?”

“But Bras—­” she said; and with that she caught the leash with both her hands,

“Bras won’t mind them if you keep him quiet.  I suppose you can manage him better than I can.  I wish we had brought a whip.”

“I would rather let him kill every deer in the Park than touch him with a whip,” said Sheila proudly.

“You fearful creature, you don’t know what you say.  That is high treason.  If George Ranger heard you, he would have you hanged in front of the Star and Garter.”

“Who is George Ranger?” said Sheila with an air as if she had said, “Do you know that I am the daughter of the King of Borva, and whoever touches me will have to answer to my papa, who is not afraid of any George Ranger?”

“He is a great lord who hangs all persons who disturb the deer in this Park.”

“But why do they not go away?” said Sheila impatiently.  “I have never seen any deer so stupid.  It is their own fault if they are disturbed:  why do they remain so near to people and to houses?”

“My dear child, if Bras wasn’t here you would probably find some of those deer coming up to see if you had any bits of sugar or pieces of bread about your pockets.”

“Then they are like sheep—­they are not like deer,” she said with some contempt.  “If I could only tell Bras that it is sheep he will be looking at, he would not look any more.  And so small they are!  They are as small as the roe, but they have horns as big as many of the red-deer.  Do people eat them?”

“I suppose so.”

“And what will they cost?”

“I am sure I can’t tell you.”

“Are they as good as the roe or the big deer?”

“I don’t know that either.  I don’t think I ever ate fallow-deer.  But you know they are not kept here for that purpose.  A great many gentlemen in this country keep a lot of them in their parks merely to look pretty.  They cost a great deal more than they produce.”

“They must eat up a great deal of fine grass,” said Sheila almost sorrowfully.  “It is a beautiful ground for sheep—­no rushes, no peat moss, only fine good grass and dry land.  I should like my papa to see all this beautiful ground.”

“I fancy he has seen it.”

“Was my papa here?”

“I think he said so.”

“And did he see those deer?”

“Doubtless.”

“He never told me of them.”

By this time they had pretty nearly got down to the little lake, and Bras had been alternately coaxed and threatened into a quiescent mood.