‘Sneak!’ said her brothers in chorus, and left her to her tears of shame and remorse.
It was Kenneth who next day begged every one to forgive and forget. And as it was his day—rather like a birthday, you know—when no one could refuse him anything, all agreed that the whole affair should be buried in oblivion. Every one was tremendously kind, the aunt more so than any one. But Alison’s eyes were still red when in the afternoon they all went fishing once more. And before Kenneth’s hook had been two minutes in the water there was a bite, a very big fish, the uncle had to be called from his study to land it.
‘Here’s a magnificent fellow,’ said the uncle. ‘Not an ounce less than two pounds, Ken. I’ll have it stuffed for you.’
And he held out the fish and Kenneth found himself face to face with the Doyen Carp. [p259 There was no mistaking that mouth that opened like a kit-bag, and shut in a sneer like a rhinoceros’s. Its eye was most reproachful.
‘Oh! no,’ cried Kenneth, ‘you helped me back and I’ll help you back,’ and he caught the Carp from the hands of the uncle and flung it out in the moat.
‘Your head’s not quite right yet, my boy,’ said the uncle kindly. ‘Hadn’t you better go in and lie down a bit?’
But Alison understood, for he had told her the whole story. He had told her that morning before breakfast while she was still in deep disgrace; to cheer her up, he said. And, most disappointingly, it made her cry more than ever.
‘Your poor little fins,’ she had said, ‘and having your feet tied up in your tail. And it was all my fault.’
‘I liked it,’ Kenneth had said with earnest politeness, ‘it was a most awful lark.’ And he quite meant what he said.