"I have just consulted Sir George, and
he says that neither I nor Ruyven have won, seeing that Ruyven used the
coin he did--"
"Very well," cried Ruyven, triumphantly. "Then let us match dates again.
Have you a shilling, Cousin Ormond?"
"I'll throw hunting-knives for it," suggested Dorothy.
"Oh no, you won't," retorted her brother, warily.
"Then I'll race you to the porch."
He shook his head.
She laughed tauntingly.
"I'm not afraid," said Ruyven, reddening and glancing at me.
"Then I'll wrestle you."
Stung by the malice in her smile, Ruyven seized her.
"No, no! Not in these clothes!" she said, twisting to free herself.
"Wait till I put on my buckskins. Don't use me so roughly, you tear my
laced apron. Oh! you great booby!" And with a quick cry of resentment
she bent, caught her brother, and swung him off his feet clean over her
left shoulder slap on the grass.
"Silly!" she said, cheeks aflame. "I have no patience to be mauled."
Then she laughed uncertainly to see him lying there, too astonished
to get up.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"Who taught you that hold?" he demanded, indignantly, scrambling to his
feet. "I thought I alone knew that."
"Why, Captain Campbell taught you last week and ... I was at the
window ... sewing," she said, demurely.
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