A curious deep shyness settled upon Henry Rogers as they all trooped
over to the Den. The others gabbled noisily, but to him words came
with difficulty. He felt like a boy going up for some great test,
examination, almost for judgment. There was an idea in him that he
must run and hide somewhere. He saw the huge outline of Orion tilting
up above the Alps, slanting with the speed of his eternal hunt to
seize the Pleiades who sailed ever calmly just beyond his giant arms.
Yet what that old Hunter sought was at last within his reach. He knew
it, and felt the awe of capture rise upon him.
'You've eaten so much supper you can't speak,' said Monkey, whose hand
was in his coat-pocket for loose chicken-feed, as she called centimes.
'The Little Countess will _regler ton affaire_ all right. Just wait
till she gets at you.'
'You love her?' he asked gently, feeling little disposed to play.
The child's reply was cryptic, yet uncommonly revealing:--
'She's just like a relation. It's so funny she didn't know us long,
long ago--find us out, I mean.'
'Mother likes her awfully,' added Jimbo, as though that established
the matter of her charm for ever. 'It's a pity she's not a man'--just
to show that Cousinenry's position was not endangered.
They chattered on. Rogers hardly remembers how he climbed the long
stone steps.
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