But immediately after school hours we went off with a rush and a run to the stable, where we found Robert washing Aunt Serapheema’s pony’s white feet.
“Robert, we want a pail of water.”
“Whatever be ye goin’ to do wi’ th’ pail o’ water, lads?”
“Oh, we’ll soon tell you,” cried I: “I’m Jack, and he’s Jill now, and we’re going to play at it real. We’re going to roll down the green mount same’s we often do, you know, only we must have a pail of water.”
“Well, well, well,” said Robert, “I never! But sha’n’t Oi carry it up for thee?”
“No, no, that wouldn’t leave us half the fun.”
The green mount, as it was called, was a grassy hill near the sea, on which we used to have no end of fun in summer. It was pretty steep, and right in view of the dining-room window.
At this window our darling mother, as we always called her, and Aunt Serapheema were sitting talking quietly, while Sally laid the cloth, and they were not a little astonished to see us boys lugging painfully up the hill with a pail of water. Of course the real Jack and Jill had gone to fetch water, but we could only carry our programme out in the way we were doing.
Both mamma and auntie watched us with no little curiosity; while Sally, near by, stood looking too.
“Are you ready now?” said Jill, when we were near the top, “because you’ve got to tumble first, you know.”