"Hallo!" Mr. Rogers halted and stared at the bearers, who also had
halted. "What the devil noise is that?"
The noise was that of a sudden blow or impact upon timber.
After about thirty seconds it was repeated, and our senses told us
that it came from within the pavilion.
"I reckon, sir," suggested one of the woodmen, "'tis Miss Belcher
practising."
"Good Lord! Come with us, Harry--the rest stay where you are,"
Mr. Rogers commanded, and ran towards the pavilion; and as we started
I heard a whizzing and cracking within, as of machinery, followed by
a double crack of timber.
"Lydia! Lydia Belcher!"
"Hey! What's the matter now?" I heard Miss Belcher's voice demand, as
he burst in through the doorway. "Take care, the catapult's loaded!"
A whiz, and again a crack. "There now! Oh, well fielded, indeed!
Well fiel--Eh? Caught you on the ankle, did it? Well, and you're
lucky it didn't find your skull, blundering in upon a body in this
fashion."
The first sight that met me as I reached the doorway was Mr. Jack
Rogers holding one foot and hopping around with a face of agony.
From him my astonished gaze travelled to Miss Lydia Belcher, whom I
must pause to describe.
I have hinted before that Miss Belcher was an eccentric; but I
certainly cannot have prepared the reader--as I was certainly
unprepared myself--for Miss Belcher as we surprised her.
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