“He’s afraid of you.”

“That’s unusual—­until one has seen me.”

“Sami doesn’t need to see a stranger.”

“Well, that’s primitive enough, surely!  Let’s call him in.”

“I’d like to, but Sami won’t come for calling.”

“Oh, won’t he?  Leave the door open and watch him.”

As absorbed now as the girl herself, the professor put his finger to his lips and whistled—­a low, clear whistle, rather like the calling of a meditative bird.  Several times he whistled so, on different notes; and then, to her surprise, the watching girl saw the little wild thing outside stir in answer to the call.  Sami came out from behind the post and stood listening, for all the world like an inquiring squirrel.  The whistle sounded again, a plaintive, seeking sound, infinitely alluring.  It seemed to draw the heart like a living thing.  Slowly at first and then with the swift, gliding motion of the woods, the wide-eyed youngster approached the open door and stood there waiting, poised and ready for advance or flight.  Again the whistle came, and to it came Sami, straight as a bird to its calling mate.

“Tamed!” said the professor softly.  “See, he is not a bit afraid.”

“How on earth did you do it?” asked Miss Farr when the shy, brown baby had been duly welcomed.  The whistler was visibly vain.

“Oh, it’s quite simple.  I merely talked to him in his own language.”

“I see that.  But where did you learn the language?”

“Well, a fellow taught me that—­man I met at Ypres.  He could have whistled back the dodo, I think.  He knew all kinds of calls—­said all the wild things answered to them.”

“Was he a great naturalist?”

The cheerful vanity faded from Spence’s face, leaving it sombre.

“He—­would have been,” he said briefly.

Miss Farr asked no more questions.  It was a restful way she had.  And perhaps because she did not ask, the professor felt an unaccustomed impulse.  “He was a wonderful chap,” he volunteered.  “There are few like him in a generation.  It seemed—­rather a waste.”

The girl nodded.  “Used or wasted—­it’s as it happens,” she said.  “There is no plan.”

“That’s a heathen sentiment!” The professor recovered his cheerfulness.  “A sentiment not at all suited for the contemplation of extreme youth.”

“I am not extremely young.”

“You?  I was referring to our brown brother.  He is becoming uneasy again.  What’s the matter with him?”

Whatever was the matter, it reached, at that moment, an acute stage and Sami disappeared through the door into the kitchen.  Perhaps his ears were sharper than theirs and his eyes keener.  He may have seen a large umbrella coming across the clearing.

Miss Farr frowned.  “Sami is afraid of father,” she explained briefly.  The door opened as she added, “I wonder why?”

“A caprice of childhood, my daughter,” said the old doctor mildly.  “Who indeed can account for the vagaries of the young?”