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"
Oh
,
it
's
you
,
is
it
?
"
he
says
,
recognising
you
at
the
same
moment
.
"
Yes
,
"
you
answer
,
rubbing
your
eyes
;
"
what
's
happened
?
"
"
Bally
tent
's
blown
down
,
I
think
,
"
he
says
.
"
Where
's
Bill
?
"
Then
you
both
raise
up
your
voices
and
shout
for
"
Bill
!
"
and
the
ground
beneath
you
heaves
and
rocks
,
and
the
muffled
voice
that
you
heard
before
replies
from
out
the
ruin
:
"
Get
off
my
head
,
ca
n't
you
?
"
And
Bill
struggles
out
,
a
muddy
,
trampled
wreck
,
and
in
an
unnecessarily
aggressive
mood
--
he
being
under
the
evident
belief
that
the
whole
thing
has
been
done
on
purpose
.
In
the
morning
you
are
all
three
speechless
,
owing
to
having
caught
severe
colds
in
the
night
;
you
also
feel
very
quarrelsome
,
and
you
swear
at
each
other
in
hoarse
whispers
during
the
whole
of
breakfast
time
.
We
therefore
decided
that
we
would
sleep
out
on
fine
nights
;
and
hotel
it
,
and
inn
it
,
and
pub
it
,
like
respectable
folks
,
when
it
was
wet
,
or
when
we
felt
inclined
for
a
change
.
Montmorency
hailed
this
compromise
with
much
approval
.
He
does
not
revel
in
romantic
solitude
.
Give
him
something
noisy
;
and
if
a
trifle
low
,
so
much
the
jollier
.
To
look
at
Montmorency
you
would
imagine
that
he
was
an
angel
sent
upon
the
earth
,
for
some
reason
withheld
from
mankind
,
in
the
shape
of
a
small
fox-terrier
.
There
is
a
sort
of
Oh-what-a-wicked-world-this-is-and-how-I-wish-I-could-do-something-to-make-it-better-and
-
nobler
expression
about
Montmorency
that
has
been
known
to
bring
the
tears
into
the
eyes
of
pious
old
ladies
and
gentlemen
.
