ating
rapidly, but with a kind of joyous fear hitherto unknown and to which he
resigned himself without a struggle.

Flamby wriggled up on to her knees and holding the hare in her lap
petted the wild thing as though it had been some docile kitten. "Sweet
little Silk Ears," she whispered endearingly. "What a funny tiny tail!"

Quite contentedly now, the hare crouched, rubbing its blunt nose against
her hands and peering furtively up into her face and quickly down again.
Flamby studied the little creature with an oddly critical eye.

"Your funny ears go this way and that way," she murmured, raising one
hand and drawing imaginary lines in the air to illustrate her words; "so
and so. I never noticed before those little specks in your fur, Silk
Ears. They only show in some lights but they are there right enough. Now
I am going to study your tiny toes, Silky, and you don't have to be
afraid...."

Raising one of the hare's feet, Flamby peered at it closely, at the same
time continuing to caress the perfectly happy animal. She was so engaged
when suddenly up went the long ears, and uttering a faint cry resembling
an infant's whimper the hare sprang from her lap into the sea of
bluebells and instantly disappeared. A harsh grip fastened upon Flamby's
shoulder.

Lithely as one of the wild things with whom she was half kin and who
seemed to recognise the kinship, Flamby came to her feet, shaking off
the restraining hand, turned and confronted the man who had crept up
behind her.

He was an undersized, foxy fellow, dressed as a gamekeeper and carrying
a fowling-piece under one arm. His small eyes regarded her through
narrowed lids.

"So I've caught you at last, have I," he said; "caught you red-handed."

He suddenly seized her wrist and dragged her towards him. The bright
colour fled from Flamby's cheeks leaving her evenly dusky; but her grey
eyes flashed dangerously.

"Poachin', eh?" sneered the gamekeeper. "Same as your father."

Deliberately, and with calculated intent, Flamby raised her right foot,
shod in a clumsy, thick-soled shoe, and kicked the speaker on the knee.
He uttered a half-stifled cry of pain, releasing her wrist and clenching
his fist. But she leapt back from him with all the easy agility of a
young antelope.

"You're a blasted liar!" she screamed, her oval face now flushing darkly
so that her eyes seemed supernormally bright. "I wasn't poaching. My
father may have poached, but _you_ hadn't the pluck