“Oh! isn’t she?” said Percival.

“I should think not, indeed!” And Robin eyed the big young man who was laughing at him as if he meditated wiping out the insult to Lottie then and there.  But even with Jack, his sturdy satellite, to help, it was not to be thought of.  “She’s a brick!” said Cock Robin, half to himself.

“No doubt,” said Percival.  “But, as I was saying, it isn’t exactly the way to treat her.—­At least—­I don’t know:  upon my word, I don’t know,” he soliloquized.  “Judging by most women’s novels, from Jane Eyre downward, the taste for muscular bullies prevails.  Robin may be the coming hero—­who knows?—­and courtship commencing with a black eye the future fashion.—­Well, Robin, any answer?”

“Tell her I hope she’ll soon be all right.  Shall you see her?”

“I can see that she gets any message you want to send.”

Robin groped among his treasures:  “Look here:  I brought away her knife that afternoon.  She lent it me.  She’d better have it—­it’s got four blades—­she may want it, perhaps.”

Percival dropped the formidable instrument carelessly into his pocket:  “She shall have it.  And, Robin, you’d better not be hanging about here:  Lottie says so.  You’ll only vex Mrs. Blake.”

“All right!” said the boy, and went off, with Jack after him.

Percival, who was staying in the neighborhood, went straight home, tied up a parcel of books he thought might amuse Lottie in her imprisonment, and wrote a note to go with them.  He was whistling softly to himself as he wrote, and, if the truth be told, had a fair vision floating before his eyes—­a girl of whom Lottie had reminded him by sheer force of contrast.  Still, he liked Lottie in her way.  He was young enough to enjoy the easy sense of patronage and superiority which made the words flow so pleasantly from his pen.  Never had Lottie seemed to him so utterly a child as immediately after his talk with her boy-friend.

“Here are some books,” said the hurrying pen, “which I think you will like if your eye is not so bad as to prevent your reading.  Robin was keeping his disconsolate watch close by, as you foretold, and asked anxiously after you, so I gave him your message and dismissed him.  He especially charged me to send you the enclosed—­knife I believe he called it:  it looks to me like a whole armory of deadly weapons—­which he seemed to think would be a comfort to you in your affliction.  I sincerely hope it may prove so.  I was very civil to him, remembering that I was your ambassador; but if he isn’t a little less rough with you in future, I shall be tempted to adopt Mr. Blake’s plan if I happen to meet your friend again.  You really mustn’t let him damage those eyes of yours in this reckless fashion.  Mrs. Blake was nearly heartbroken this morning.”