“Oh, what are we to do?” cried she.
“Why, if you cannot get over, Rose,” said George, “we must go back, for there is no way but this to reach aunt Jane’s house.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Rose, “why we are so near to it, I can see the roof through the trees.”
“I cannot help it,” said George; “we must not stay here, for it will soon be dark.”
“I am so tired!” said poor Rose, with a sigh.
“Do not think of that now,” said George, as he got off the top of the gate on which he had sat to rest, “for we have a long way to go back, and must make haste;” so, hand-in-hand, they set off.
In a short time they met a man that knew them well: “Ah, go home, go home,” said he, as he shook his stick at them; “they are all in a great fright about you.”
Poor George and Rose ran as fast as they could, for they now thought they had done wrong to leave home.
As soon as they got to the door, Rose ran up to her grandmamma, and said, as tears ran down her cheeks, “It was all my fault, that it was; for George did not wish to go, but I led him out.”
“No,” said George, “it was my fault too, for I knew it was wrong, and Rose did not.”