what must happen. He's there from the moment he knows somebody else is."
"I understand his intermissions," I said, after a short reflection; "but I don't quite seize the law that governs them."
"Oh, it's a fine shade, but I caught it at that moment. I had started to come home. I was tired, and I had insisted on his not coming back with me. We had found some rare flowers—those I brought home—and it was he who had discovered almost all of them. It amused him very much, and I knew he wanted to get more; but I was weary and I quitted him. He let me go—where else would have been his tact?—and I was too stupid then to have guessed that from the moment I was not there no flower would be gathered. I started homeward, but at the end of three minutes I found I had brought away his penknife—he had lent it to me to trim a branch—and I knew he would need it. I turned back a few steps to call him, but before I spoke I looked about for him. You can't understand what happened then without having the place before you."
