"Never," he vowed.
"I, I just wouldn't let myself," she continued, "and once I hit Nero because he—oh!"
A soft muzzle had been thrust between their heads.
"Nero!" she cried, sitting up straight, her hands flying to her disordered hair. "You wicked person! Who let you out?" but Nero was too busy nuzzling Smith's pockets to explain that he represented Eric's master-stroke of diplomacy.
Suddenly there came a whoop from behind them.
"I say, isn't it spif?" cried an ecstatic voice, and a red head appeared from behind a tree.
"It'll be murder if I catch you," laughed Smith, making a movement in the direction of the red blob, whereat it disappeared, and once more the pinewood resumed its sombre colouring of greys and greens and browns.
THE END
