Queenie’s eyebrows went up.
“What do you mean? You’ve been boasting all this time about how you’ve been climbing and what wonderful things you can do. It was all practising for to-day. Why don’t you show us what you can do?”
Bertie was more red than ever now. He had not really boasted at all, but he had admitted to Phil that he had been doing a good deal of climbing, and hoped to be able to make good use of his agility when the day came to visit the Rocky Bay. He was intensely eager now to show his prowess and to join the climbers in their ascent; but he stood quite still, looking sheepish and disturbed.
Queenie looked at him with a surprise that changed to scorn.
“You are afraid,” she said, disdainfully. “Why could you not say so before?”
“I’m not afraid,” answered Bertie, rather hotly. “I’m no more afraid than you.”
Queenie tossed her head scornfully.
“Then why on earth don’t you go? I know it’s because you’re afraid. You always were a pitiful little coward—all the boys say so.”
Bertie clenched his hands tightly, tears of anger and mortification stood in his eyes. It was very hard to be accused of cowardice when he felt himself quite innocent of the charge; and the worst of it was that Queenie would never understand his real motive. Obedience was not a part of her moral code.
With a great effort the little boy swallowed his resentment, and said, quietly,—