“No.” Sydney was rather frightened.
“Ten-thirty.”
She sprang up with a cry of dismay. “Oh, how dreadful! I must run!”
“You won’t do any such thing!” said the Vicar firmly. “I am going to drive you to the Castle in my pony-cart, and explain your disappearance.”
“I come, too!” Pauly cried, scrambling up from the centre of the hearth-rug in a great hurry.
“No,” said the Vicar gravely. “I told you not to go into the kitchen garden alone, Pauly. You must be obedient before daddy takes you out with him.”
Pauly did not cry, as Sydney half expected. He twisted his fingers in and out of his belt in silence for a minute; then observed defiantly, “Bad old Satan come along and said, ‘Pauly, go into the kitchen garden.’”
“Yes,” said the Vicar gravely, “but what ought Pauly to have done?”
Pauly slowly stumped across the room, and stood looking wistfully from the barred window.
“Wis’ I’d punc’ed his head!” came in a subdued murmur from the bunchy little figure in the sunshine.