hands. Rosamund had
the gun under her right arm.

"It's a capital gun," she called out to Dion. "I got three. Here,
Dirmikis,"--she turned to the boy,--"show them."

"Does he understand English?"

"No, but he understands me!" she retorted with pride. "Look there!"

Dirmikis held up the birds, smiling a savage smile.

"Aren't they fat? Feel them, Dion! The three fattest ones fell to my
gun, but don't tell _him_."

She sketched a delicious wink, looking about sixteen.

"I really have a good eye," she added, praising herself with gusto.
"It's no use being over-modest, is it? If one has a gift, well one just
has it. Here, Dirmikis!"

She gave his gun carefully to the barefooted child.

"He's a little stunner, and so chivalrous. I never met a boy I liked
more. Do give him a nice present, Dion, and let him feed in the camp if
he likes."

"Well, what next? What am I to give him?"

"Nothing dressy. He isn't a manikin, he's a real Doric boy."

She slapped Dirmikis on the back with a generous hand. He smiled
radiantly, this time without any savagery.

"The sort of boy who'll be of some use in the world."

"I'll give him a tip."

Rosamund seemed about to assent when an idea struck her, as she
afterwards said, "with the force of a bomb."

"I know what he'll like better than anything."

"Well?"

"Your revolver, to be sure!"

"My revolver to be suren't!" exclaimed Dion passionately, inventing a
negative. "I bought it at great cost to defend you with, not for the
endowment of a half-naked varmint from the wilderness under Drouva."

"Be careful, Dion; you're insulting a Doric boy!"

"Here--I'll insult him with a ten-lepta piece."

"Don't be mean. Bribe him thoroughly if you're going to bribe him. We go
shooting together again to-morrow evening."

"Do you indeed?"

"Yes, directly after tea. It's all arranged. Dirmikis suggested it with
the most charming chivalry, and I gave yes for an answer. So we must
keep on good terms with him at whatever cost."

She cocked up her chin and walked exultantly into the tent. A minute
afterwards there rang out to the evening a warm contralto voice singing.

Dirmikis looked at the tent and then at Dion with an air of profound
astonishment. The quail dropped from his hands, and he did not even
snatch at them as he listened to the remarkable sounds which, he could
not doubt, flowed from his Amazon. His brows came down over his fiery
eyes, and he seemed to stand at gaze li