"We shall be quite safe in doing that," I said as we turned into the back
premises of the Home Farm.
Banks had forgotten about my suit-case, and I bore the burden of it,
flauntingly, up the hill. Racquet followed us with an air of conscious
humility.
And it was Racquet that Anne first addressed when she met us at the door
of the house.
"Whose rabbit is that?" she asked sternly.
Racquet instantly dropped his catch and slowly approached Anne with a mien
of exaggerated abasement.
"If you were an out and out socialist, I shouldn't mind," Anne continued,
"but you shouldn't do these things if you're ashamed of them afterwards."
Racquet continued to supplicate her with bowed head, but he gave one
surreptitious flick of his stumpy tail, that to me had the irresistible
suggestion of a wink.
"Hypocrite!" Anne said, whereupon Racquet, correctly judging by her tone
that his forgiveness was assured, made one splendid leap at her, returned
with an altogether too patent eagerness to his rabbit, picked it up, and
trotted away round the corner of the house.
"Isn't he a humbug?" Anne asked looking at me, and continued without
waiting for my confirmation of the epithet, "Why didn't you let Arthur
carry that?"
"He carried it half the way," I said. "He and I are the out and out kind
of socialist."
She did not smile. "Father and mother are home," she said, turning to her
brother. "I can see by your face the sort of thing they've been saying to
you at the Hall, so I suppose we'd better have the whole story on the
carpet over supper. Father's been asking already what Brenda's here for."