“Oh, mamma, I can’t—oh, I can’t! I shouldn’t know anything what to say.”
“It is the only honourable thing to do, darling. You have been much to blame. I will tell Cricket for you, if you like. She is a dear little girl, and I’m sure she will forgive you and love you just the same.” Nevertheless, Hilda could not quite make up her mind, that night, to take this step.
The next Monday she started off, very soberly and unhappily, for school. As she turned into the lane, however, she saw a familiar little red dress fluttering by the hedge, and in a moment Cricket came in view. Both little girls stopped and looked at each other shyly for a moment. Cricket spoke first.
“Mamma says I was very rude to you,” she began, very soberly, but Hilda ran up to her, impulsively, and threw both her arms around her neck.
“I was rude and horrid, Cricket, and I did rub out your sums, and I’ve teased the children, and I’ve torn up your jography questions often and often; and I should think you’d hate me.” Hilda said all this in a breath.
Cricket looked too astonished to speak.
“Oh, please, Cricket, forgive me, and love me just the same, and we’ll always buy marsh-mallows, for I like them pretty well, and it doesn’t make any difference if I don’t!” finished Hilda, very much mixed up, but very much in earnest.
But Cricket, while she did not quite understand all Hilda meant, was, nevertheless, only too glad to kiss and make friends, and so their quarrel was made up.
CHAPTER III.
DAMMING THE BROOK.
One bright May morning three little maids sat perched on the topmost rail of an old fence down by the brook. It was very pleasant just at that particular spot, where the tiny stream babbled along gayly in its wide, deep bed. There was only a ribbon of water there now, though early in the spring the current ran full and strong. The trees in the neighbouring woods waved and nodded their heads in cordial welcome to their constant little visitors.