In the Quarter

``Could I ever forget after such teaching?''

``Well, now, I call that a girl!'' cried Rex, enthusiastically.

``Let us hope some people won't call it a hoyden!'' said Mrs Dene, with the tender pride that made her faultfinding like a caress. ``The idea of a girl carrying an absurd little breech-loading rifle all over Europe!''

``What! the one I had built for her?''

``I suppose so,'' said Mrs Dene, with a shade more of reserve.

``Miss Dene, you shall kill the first chamois that I see!''

``I fear, Mr Gethryn, the Duke Alfons Adalbert Maximilian in Baiern will have something to say about that!''

``Oh–h–h! Preserved?''

``Yes, indeed, preserved!''

``But they told me I might shoot on the Sonnewendjoch.''

``Ah! But that's in Tyrol, just across the line. You can see it from here. Austrian game laws aren't Bavarian game laws, sir!''

``How much of this country does your duke own?''

``Just half a dozen mountains, and half a dozen lakes, and half a hundred trout streams, with all the splendid forests belonging to them.''

``Lucky duke! And is the game preserved in the whole region? Can't one get a shot?''

``One cannot even carry a gun without a permit.''

Rex groaned. ``And the trout – I suppose they are preserved, too?''

``Yes, but the Herr Förster has the right to fish and so have his guests. There are, however, conditions. The fish you take are not yours. You must buy as many of them as you want to keep, afterward. And they must be brought home alive – or as nearly alive as is consistent with being shut up in a close, round, green tin box, full of water which becomes tepid as it is carried along by a peasant boy in the heat. They usually die of suffocation. But to the German mind that is all right. It is only not right when one kills them instantly and lays them in a cool creel, on fresh wet ferns and moss.''

``Nevertheless, I think we will dispense with the boy and the green box, in favor of the ferns and moss, assisted by a five franc piece or two.''

``It isn't francs any more; you're not in France. It's marks here, you know.''

``Well, I have the same faith in the corrupting power of marks as of francs, or lire, or shillings, or dollars.''

``And I think you will find your confidence justified,'' said Mrs Dene, smiling.

``Mamma trying to be cynical!'' said Ruth, teasingly. ``Isn't she funny, Rex!''

A thoughtful look stole over her mother's face. ``I can be terrible, too, sometimes – '' she said in her little, clear, high soprano voice; and she gazed musingly at the edge of a letter, which just appeared above the table, and then sank out of sight in her lap.

``A letter from papa! It came with the stage! What does he say?''

``He says – several things; for one, he is coming back tomorrow instead of the next day.''

``Delightful! But there is more?''

Mrs Dene's face became a cheerful blank. ``Yes, there is more,'' she said. A pause.

``Mamma,'' began Ruth, ``do you think Griffins desirable as mothers?''

``Very, for bad children!'' Mrs Dene relapsed into a pleasant reverie. Ruth looked at her mother as a kitten does in a game of tag when the old cat has retired somewhere out of reach and sits up smiling through the barrier.

``You find her sadly changed!'' she said to Gethryn, in that silvery, mocking tone which she had inherited from her mother.

``On the contrary, I find her the same adorable gossip she always was. Whatever is in that letter, she is simply dying to tell us all about it.''

``Suppose we try not speaking, and see how long she can stand that?''

Rex laid his repeater on the table. Two pairs of laughing eyes watched the dear little old lady. At the end of three minutes she raised her own; blue, sweet, running over with fun and kindness.

``The colonel has a polite invitation from the duke for himself, and his party, to shoot on the Red Peak.''

Thirteen

In July the sun is still an early riser, but long before he was up next day a succession of raps on the door woke Gethryn, and a voice outside inquired, ``Are you going fishing with me today, you lazy beggar?''

``Colonel!'' cried Rex, and springing up and throwing open the door, he threatened to mingle his pajamas with the natty tweeds waiting there in a loving embrace. The colonel backed away, twisting his white mustache. ``How do, Reggy! Same boy, eh? Yes. I drove from Schicksalsee this morning.''

``This morning? Wasn't it last night?'' said Rex, looking at the shadows on the opposite mountain.

``And I am going to get some trout,'' continued the colonel, ignoring the interruption. ``So's Daisy. See my new waterproof rig?''

``Beautiful! but – is it quite the thing to wear a flower in one's fishing coat?''

``I'm not aware – '' began the other stiffly, but broke down, shook his seal ring at Rex, and walking over to the glass, rearranged the bit of wild hyacinth in his buttonhole with care.

``And now,'' he said, ``Daisy and I will give you just three quarters of an hour.'' Rex sent a shower from the water basin across the room.

``Look out for those new waterproof clothes, Colonel.''

``I'll take them out of harm's way,'' said the colonel, and disappeared.

Before the time had expired Rex stood under the beech tree with his rod case and his creel. The colonel sat reading a novel. Mrs Dene was pouring out coffee. Ruth was coming down a path which led from a low shed, the door of which stood wide open, suffering the early sunshine to fall on something that lay stretched along the floor. It was a stag, whose noble head and branching antlers would never toss in the sunshine again.

``Only think!'' cried Ruth breathlessly, ``Federl shot a stag of ten this morning at daybreak on the Red Peak, and he's frightened out of his wits, for only the duke has a right to do that. Federl mistook it for a stag of eight. And they're in the velvet, besides!'' she added rather incoherently. `` What luck! Poor Federl! I asked him if that meant strafen, and he said he guessed not, only zanken.''

``What's `strafen' and what's `zanken,' Daisy?'' asked the Colonel, pronouncing the latter like ``z'' in buzz.

Ruth went up to her father and took his face between her hands, dropping a light kiss on his eyebrow.

`` Strafen is when one whips bad boys and t–s– zanken is when one only scolds them. Which shall we do to you, dear? Both?''

``We'll take coffee first, and then we'll see which there's time for before we leave you hemming a pocket handkerchief while Rex and I go trout fishing.''