"But why do they not go away?" said Sheila impatiently. "I have never
seen any deer so stupid. It is their own fault if they are disturbed:
why do they remain so near to people and to houses?"

"My dear child, if Bras wasn't here you would probably find some of
those deer coming up to see if you had any bits of sugar or pieces of
bread about your pockets."

"Then they are like sheep--they are not like deer," she said with some
contempt. "If I could only tell Bras that it is sheep he will be looking
at, he would not look any more. And so small they are! They are as small
as the roe, but they have horns as big as many of the red-deer. Do
people eat them?"

"I suppose so."

"And what will they cost?"

"I am sure I can't tell you."

"Are they as good as the roe or the big deer?"

"I don't know that either. I don't think I ever ate fallow-deer. But you
know they are not kept here for that purpose. A great many gentlemen in
this country keep a lot of them in their parks merely to look pretty.
They cost a great deal more than they produce."

"They must eat up a great deal of fine grass," said Sheila almost
sorrowfully. "It is a beautiful ground for sheep--no rushes, no peat
moss, only fine good grass and dry land. I should like my papa to see
all this beautiful ground."

"I fancy he has seen it."

"Was my papa here?"

"I think he said so."

"And did he see those deer?"

"Doubtless."

"He never told me of them."

By this time they had pretty nearly got down to the little lake, and
Bras had been alternately coaxed and threatened into a quiescent mood.

Sheila evidently expected to hear a flapping of sea-fowls' wings when
they got near the margin; and looked all round for the first sudden dart
from the banks. But a dead silence prevailed; and as there were neither
fish nor birds to watch, she went along to a wooden bench and sat down
there, one of her companions on each hand. It was a pretty scene that
lay before her--the small stretch of water ruffled with the wind, but
showing a dash of blue sky here and there--the trees in the inclosure
beyond, clad in their summer foliage, the smooth greensward shining in
the afternoon sunlight. Here at least was absolute quiet after the roar
of London; and it was somewhat wistfully that she asked her husband how
far this place was from her home, and whether, when he was at work, she
could not come down here by herself.

"Certainly," he said, never dreaming that she