glad to have you feel that way, and never get into a tight place without letting me know.” “I do promise, Betsy, so gratefully,” began Rosalie; and then Mr. Derwent turned around and met her eyes with a kind smile in his. He indicated a point in the woods. Rosalie looked and descried the spreading antlers of a deer, which stood bright-eyed and motionless in the shadow and watched the stage go by. Mr. Derwent had been the first to discover the animal, but soon everybody in the stage was alert. “Oh, the deer! Look at the deer!” sped from mouth to mouth. “What a sermon to men-folks!” exclaimed Betsy. “The way the critters act in this Park is a wonder, just because men’s savage instincts are restrained.” [99] [99] “Yes,” said Rosalie. “I’ve been saying to myself over and over Emerson’s poem,— ‘Who hath named the birds without a gun?’” Betsy regarded her with the one-sided smile. “Still speak poetry, do you, even though you do bring folks their soup?” “Oh, yes.” Rosalie gave her head a sad little shake. “When I stop thinking and feeling poetry, I shall have stopped breathing.” Everybody was commenting on the curious action of the beautiful wild creature in the forest, Robert declaring that he had buck fever. When the excitement had subsided, he leaned forward to Irving’s ear. “Your faithful retainer has found her tongue,” he said. “She and Uncle Henry’s Hebe are talking thirteen to the dozen.” “Has Mr. Derwent a Hebe on board?” “Yes. A genius who has brought him good coffee for two meals. Watch him head for her table this noon; and she’s unnecessarily pretty.” Upon this Irving turned around and caught Betsy’s eye; then a glimpse of the blond young girl who was her companion. [100]
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