Then mother wrung out my clothes, and Uncle Jasper remarked that the children who lived before the Reformation never behaved so badly; Aunt Constance had got to that bit of the General Thanksgiving where you bless Him for preservation, especially of nieces and nephews and boys who live at lodges; Ross and Sam were just turning to go home when I—honestly it was the first minute I could speak, I had swallowed such a lot of water—exclaimed,—
'Father, how dare you be so wickedly unjust?'
Every one looked at me as I hurled that bombshell. People didn't usually speak so to father—least of all his children, but daddy never gets angry at the things you'd think he would, and all he said was,—
'What do you mean, little 'un?'
'Why, father, they told me not to go.'
'It was my fault, sir; I ought to have seen she didn't,' Ross interrupted.
'I don't suppose she heard me say the branch was rotten, sir,' said Sam.
But I exclaimed,—
'Oh, daddy, they are telling frightful lies; I did hear Sam say that it was rotten, and Ross told me not to go.'
So father said, 'Sorry, old chaps,' to Ross and Sam, and they said, 'It was quite all right, sir.' So father said, 'Well, run her home, boys, so that she doesn't catch cold,' and mother called after us, 'Give her some hot milk.'