"How did this cream come to be upset on the floor?"
"Father, it was the cat."
"The cat? Impossible. The cat brought a vessel of milk to the middle of the room and upset it there?"
"No! no! father, it was I that did it; in carrying it, I accidentally overturned it."
Rosalie spoke in a low voice, and dared not look at her father.
"Take the broom, Rosalie, and sweep up this cream."
"There is no broom, father."
"No broom! there was one when I left the house."
"I burned it, father, accidentally, by—— by——"
She paused—her father looked fixedly at her, threw a searching unquiet glance about the room, sighed and turned his steps slowly towards the little house in the garden.