Mr.Moody, hold my hat, and take the greatest care of it.

Here goes for a roll down the bank!" He handed his horrible hat to the astonished Moody, laid himself flat on the top of the bank, and deliberately rolled down it, exactly as he might have done when he was a boy.

The tails of his long gray coat flew madly in the wind: the dog pursued him, jumping over him, and barking with delight; he shouted and screamed in answer to the dog as he rolled over and over faster and faster; and, when he got up, on the level ground, and called out cheerfully to his companions standing above him, "I say, you two, I feel twenty years younger already!"-- human gravity could hold out no longer.

The sad and silent Moody smiled, and Isabel burst into fits of laughter.
"There," he said "didn't I tell you you would get used to me, Miss?
There's a deal of life left in the old man yet--isn't there?
Shy me down my hat, Mr.Moody.And now we'll get to business!" He turned round to the dog still barking at his heels.

"Business, Puggy!" he called out sharply, and Puggy instantly shut up his mouth, and said no more.
"Well, now," Old Sharon resumed when he had joined his friends and had got his breath again, "let's have a little talk about yourself, miss.
Has Mr.Moody told you who I am, and what I want with you?
Very good.
May I offer you my arm?
No! You like to be independent, don't you?
All right--I don't object.