had to hail me three or four times before I
discovered where she was. I always liked Lalage, and even in those days
she had a friendly feeling for me. I doubt, however, whether a simple
desire for my conversation would have brought her down from her nest. I
might have passed without being hailed if it had not happened that I was
riding a new bicycle. In those days bicycles were still rare in the west
of Ireland. Mine was a new toy and Lalage had never seen it before. She
climbed from her tree top with remarkable agility and swung herself from
the lowest branch with such skill and activity that she alighted on her
feet close beside the bicycle. She was at that time a little more than
fourteen years of age. She asked at once to be allowed to ride the
bicycle. I was a young man then, active and vigorous; but I was hot,
breathless, and exhausted before Lalage had enough of learning to ride.
I doubt whether she would have given in even after an hour's hard work
if we had not met with a serious accident. We charged into a strong
laurel bush. Lalage's frock was torn. The rent was a long one, extending
diagonally from the waistband to the bottom hem. I knew, even while I
offered one from the back of my tie, that a pin would be no use.

"Cattersby," said Lalage, "will be mad--raging mad. She's always at me
because things will tear my clothes. Horrid nuisance clothes are, aren't
they? But Cattersby doesn't think so of course. She likes them."

The lady's name is Battersby, not Cattersby. She held the position of
governess to Lalage for more than a year and is therefore entitled to
respect. Her predecessor, a Miss Thomas, resigned after six weeks. It
was my mother who recommended Miss Battersby to Canon Beresford. I felt
that I ought to protest against Lalage's irreverent way of speaking. In
mere loyalty to my mother, apart altogether from the respect which, as a
landed proprietor, I naturally entertain for all forms of law and order,
I was absolutely bound to say something.

"You should speak of her as Miss Battersby," I said firmly.

"I call her Cattersby," said Lalage, "because that is her nature."

I said that I understood what this marker meant; but Lalage, who even
then had a remarkable faculty for getting at the naked truth of things,
did not even pretend to believe me.

"Come along," she said, "and I'll show you why."

I followed her meekly, leading my bicycle, which, like Lalage's frock,
had suffered in its contest