‘How did you get here, Wych?’ was his undoubtedly serious inquiry.

‘Oh!’ she said, jumping up, and checking her own wild murmurs of song,—­’My dear Mr. Falkirk, how did you?  What is the last news from civilization?’ She looked wild wood enough, with the pink wreath round her hat and her curls twisted round the wind’s fingers.

‘But what did you come here for?’

’It’s a pleasant place, sir—­Mr. Rollo says.  I was going to propose that you and I should have a joint summer house here, with strawberries and cream.  Mr. Falkirk, haven’t you a bun in your pocket?’

At this moment, and in the most matter-of-fact manner, presented himself her red squirrel friend, arriving from nobody knew where; and bringing not only himself but a little basket in which appeared—­precisely—­biscuits and strawberries.  Silently all this presented itself.  Wych Hazel’s cheeks rivalled the strawberries for about a minute, but whether from stirred vanity or vexation it was hard to tell.

‘Mr. Falkirk!’ she cried, ’are all the rest of the staff coming?  Here is the Commissary—­is the Quarter-master behind, in the bushes?’

‘I have no doubt we shall find him,’ said Mr. Falkirk, dryly.  ‘How did you get into this bird’s nest, child?’

‘She was drawn here, sir,—­by a red squirrel.’

’I was not drawn!—­Mr. Falkirk, what are they about up there, besides lamenting my absence.’

Mr. Falkirk seemed uneasy.  He only looked at the little speaker, busy with her strawberries, and spoke not, but Rollo answered instead.

’They are looking over the rocks and endeavouring to compute the depth to the bottom, with a reference to your probable safety.’  There was a shimmer of light in the speaker’s eye.

’If they are taking mathematical views of the subject, they are in a dangerous way!  Mr. Falkirk, it is imperatively necessary that I should at once rejoin the rest of society,—­ will you let yourself be torn from this rock, like a sea anemone?’

Mr. Falkirk had been for a few minutes taking a minute and business-like survey of the place.

‘I see no way of getting you out, Wych,’ he said despondingly, ’without a rope.  I must go back for one, I believe, and you and society must wait.’

‘How will you get out, sir?’

‘I don’t know.  If I cannot, I’ll send Rollo.’

‘Pray send him, sir,—­by all means.’

‘I can get you out without a rope,’ said that gentleman, very dispassionately.

‘Pray do, then,’ said the other.

’There is a step or two here of roughness, but it is practicable; and with your help we can reach smooth going in a very few minutes.  A little below there is a path.  Let me see you safe down first, Mr. Falkirk.  Can you manage that oak branch?—­stop when you get to the bottom—­Stand there, now.’

With the aid of his younger friend’s hand and eyes Mr. Falkirk made an abrupt descent to the place indicated—­a ledge not very far but very sheer below them.  From a position which looked like a squirrel’s, mid way on the rock with one foot on the oak, Rollo then stretched out his hand to Wych Hazel.