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"Bistre!" whispered Miles, hoarsely. "Bistre, come back here, you fool dog!"
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But the fool dog didn't hear, or,
hearing, paid no heed. Miles crept
back out of sight among the trees
and watched through a crevice in the
foliage. Bistre trotted straight to
Prudence and pawed at her dress.
Prudence turned sharply to him and
then swept the slope swiftly with her
gaze. Probably she was relieved to
find no one in sight. She raised the
delighted Bistre on to the lap of her
white skirt and kissed the beauty spot.
For several minutes Bistre listened
attentively to her remarks and luxuriated
in her caresses. Then he
jumped to the ground and came dutifully
back up the slope, Prudence
watching him.
Miles had flown.
