The small girl sat up.
'Go away!' she said. 'Go away! I won't be kissed. I'm not your girl. Keep your old dolls for yourself.'
'Flossie,' cried the mother, 'Flossie!' and tried to gather her up as if she had been two instead of seven, and tried to kiss her; but Floss covered her face tightly with her bony little hands.
'Floss,' said Cameron, 'don't be ridiculous. Kiss your mother, and why are you not dressed?'
Hermie was looking ready to cry. Had she not herself put the child a clean white frock on, and tried to curl her hair and seen her into shoes and stockings? And here was the naughty little thing barefoot, and in a ragged print frock!
'Kiss your mother,' Cameron said sternly, the surprised pain on his wife's face angering him against the child.
Floss turned a sullen little face to her mother, but her lips did not move.
'Now kiss Challis,' the father said; for the mother, stooping over the child, had hidden it from him that he had only been half obeyed. Challis came forward to put a loving arm round the ragged shoulder. But Floss struggled to the ground, dived under the bunk, dragged at one of the tent-pegs, and was out and flying off to the bush like a wild rabbit before any one could stop her.
'Go and fetch her back, Bart,' Cameron said, extreme annoyance in his tone.
'It was to be expected,' Mrs. Cameron said, but she looked a little white. 'We mustn't force her; you must let me lay siege to the fortress my own way.'