the vicinity of the cottage, he parted the tall shrubs
bordering its grounds and looked through carefully before proceeding.
Pleased at the gleam of water, he called Blue Two.

"Good enough! Put the other robots away for the night. They can trim
the edges tomorrow."

He started into the cottage, but his major-domo warned, "Someone
comes."

Robert looked around. Through thin portions of the shrubbery, he
caught a glimpse of Marcia-Joan's crimson robe, nearly black in the
diffused glow of the lights illuminating the grounds.

"Robert!" called the girl angrily. "What are your robots doing? I saw
them from my upstairs window--"

"Wait there!" exclaimed Robert as she reached the shrubs.

"What? Are you trying to tell me where I can go or not go? I--YI!"

The shriek was followed by a tremendous splash. Robert stepped forward
in time to be spattered by part of the flying spray. It was cold.

_Naturally, being drawn from the brook_, he reflected. _Oh, well, the
sun will warm it tomorrow._

There was a frenzy of thrashing and splashing in the dimly lighted
water at his feet, accompanied by coughs and spluttering demands that
he "do something!"

[Illustration]

Robert reached down with one hand, caught his hostess by the wrist,
and heaved her up to solid ground.

"My robots are digging you a little swimming hole," he told her. "They
brought the water from the brook by a trench. You can finish it with
concrete or plastics later; it's only fifteen by thirty feet."

He expected some sort of acknowledgment of his efforts, and peered at
her through the gloom when none was forthcoming. He thus caught a
glimpse of the full-swinging slap aimed at his face. He tried to duck.

There was another splash, followed by more floundering about.

"Reach up," said Robert patiently, "and I'll pull you out again. I
didn't expect you to like it this much."

Marcia-Joan scrambled up the bank, tugged viciously at her sodden
robe, and headed for the nearest pathway without replying. Robert
followed along.

As they passed under one of the lights, he noticed that the red
reflections of the wet material, where it clung snugly to the girl's
body, were almost the color of some of his robots.

_The tennis robot_, he thought, _and the moving targets for
archery--in fact, all the sporting equipment._

"You talk about food for the figure," he remarked lightly. "You should
see yourself now! It's really funny, the way--"

He stopped. Some