‘Mme. Lasalle!’

By what connection did not appear, but Miss Hazel’s fingers were immediately very busy disengaging the rose branch from the button of her habit, where it had hung during the walk.

’I think that is the prospect.  But I do not know that I am under any obligation to meet her, so I think I shall prefer the company of your vixenish little mare.  Not to speak of the chance of encountering Mr. Falkirk,’ said Rollo, lifting his eyebrows.  ’I shouldn’t like to stand Mr. Falkirk’s shot this morning!’

‘It will hit nobody but me,’ she said, rather soberly.

‘Is he a good marksman?’

‘Depends a little on what he aims at,’ said the girl.  ’It is easier, sometimes—­as, perhaps, you know—­to hit people than things.’

‘Take care!’ said Rollo, again, as another obstacle in the path presented itself; ’I don’t mean anything shall hit you while I have the care of you.’  Putting his hands for an instant on the girl’s shoulders, he removed her lightly from one side of the walk to the other, and then attacked a sweeping dogwood branch, which, very lovely but very persevering, hung just too low.  It cost a little trouble to dispose of it.

They were not on the great carriage road, but following one of the embowered paths which led through the woods.  It went winding up, under trees of great beauty, thickset, and now for long default of mastership, overbearing and encroaching in their growth.  A wild beauty they made, now becoming fast disorderly and in places rough.  The road wound about so much that their progress was slow.

‘Chickaree has had no guardian for a good while,’ said Rollo, as they went on.  ’Look at that elm! and the ashes beyond it.  But don’t cut too much, when you cut here; nor let Mr. Falkirk.’

’He shall not cut a branch, and I love the thickets too well to meddle with them.  Unless they actually come in my face.’

‘Then you do not love the thickets well enough.  Come here,’ said he, drawing her gently to one side,—­’stand a little this way—­do you see how that white oak is crowding upon those two ashes?  They are suffering already; and in another year it would be in the way of that beautiful spruce fir.  And the white oak itself is not worth all that.’

’But if you cut it down there will be a great blank space.  The crowding is much prettier than that!’

‘The blank space in two years’ time will be filled again.’

‘So soon?’ she said doubtfully.  Then with one of her half laughs,—­’You see I do not believe pruning and thinning out and reducing to order agrees with everything; and naturally enough my sympathies are the other way.  I like to see the stiff leaves and the soft leaves all mixed up together; they show best so.  Not standing off in open space—­like Mr. Falkirk and me.’