Lansell swallowed--"is not a little child any longer,
Dorman. She is a woman and can do as she likes. I"--she was speaking to
the whole group--"I can only advise her."
Dorman gave a squeal of triumph. "See? You can go, Be'trice! Gran'mama
says you can go. You will go, won't you, Be'trice? Say yes!"
"No!" said Beatrice, with desperate emphasis. "I won't."
"I want--Be'trice--to go-o!" Dorman slid down upon his shoulder blades,
gave a squeal which was not triumph, but temper, and kicked the table
till every dish on it danced.
"Dorman sit up!" commanded his auntie. "Dorman, stop, this instant! I'm
ashamed of you; where is my good little man? Redmond."
Sir Redmond seemed glad of the chance to do something besides sit
quietly in his place and look calm. He got up deliberately, and in two
minutes, or less, Dorman was in the woodshed with him, making sounds
that frightened his puppies dreadfully and put the coyotes to shame.
Beatrice left the table hurriedly to escape the angry eyes of her
mother. The sounds in the woodshed had died to a subdued sniffling, and
she retreated to the front porch, hoping to escape observation. There
she nearly ran against Sir Redmond, who was staring off into the dusk to
where the moon was peering redly over a black pinnacle of the Bear Paws.
She would have slipped back into the house, but he did not give her the
chance.
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