"No," said Christina; "I know I should tumble down and be burnt up in the middle, and I couldn't be burnt!"
"You wouldn't be. What a pity it is that you are a girl! You're never up to any games. Let's come and get the leaves!"
"But I love to play games," asserted poor Christina: "I make up lovely ones in my own head, and wish you were with me to play with me; but jumping through a fire isn't the only game to play!"
"No," said Dawn, running to an old shed and bringing out a wheelbarrow; "we'll make up an end to the babes in the wood. You go and lie down on the path over there and cover yourself over with leaves. And I'll be the wicked uncle, and will come along to get some leaves for my—my pigs, and then I'll find your dead body, and will be very frightened, and then will take you along to burn you, and the heat of the fire will make you come alive, and then you must jump up and point your finger at me, and I'll be so frightened, that I shall tumble back into my own fire, and be burnt to a cinder myself."
"And then," added the more merciful Christina, "just before you burn, I'll drag you out, and you'll fall down on your knees and say you're sorry for all your sins, and then I'll forgive you, and we'll go and look for my brother, who isn't dead either!"
This game was carried out, and the paths did not receive much attention in consequence. But when it was over Dawn began to talk:
"We're painting another picture."
"What's it about?"
"Red and yellow leaves in a wood, and a little old man with sticks coming through it. I was the little man. I put on dad's greatcoat. I'm first-rate in the picture."
"How clever your dad is!"