“Oh, Essie! what is it? What is the matter?” cried Ally, throwing herself beside her. “Does your tooth ache?”
“Oh, it’s the squirrel! the squirrel!” Essie moaned.
“The squirrel?”
“Oh, Ally! you and I robbed him! We took all he had! Oh, just think of him out in this storm and with nothing to eat, and his wife and the little squirrels—and they’ll all die—they’ll starve!”
By this time Ally felt it too, and sat silent, staring at Essie.
“Don’t you suppose there’s anything we can do?” asked Essie. “I never thought we were so wicked! Oh! don’t you think we might carry the nuts back?” she implored.
Ally sprang up. “Oh, yes, we might, if Pincher helped us! But Pincher’s gone round the mountain to the blacksmith’s with the horses. Uncle Billy is away too. Perhaps—perhaps Old Uncle”—
“Oh, I would be afraid!” said Essie.
“So am I afraid,” said Ally stoutly. “But you stay here, Essie. Oh, I wish Uncle Billy wasn’t always going away!”
There was a noise of discussion in Old Uncle’s office when Ally timidly turned the handle of the door, and paused there, ready to fly.